


Chasing The Light

by Doverstar



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Redemption, Romance, canon-divergent, everyone wins when there's a Barry Allen duplicate running around, this can also be found on FF.Net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doverstar/pseuds/Doverstar
Summary: [ATTENTION: THIS STORY IS CONTINUED ON FANFICTION.NET. IT IS UPDATED SOLELY THERE UNTIL I FINISH IT AND CAN UPLOAD IT FULLY HERE. Italics are tedious on this site and I'm lazy, so head on over to FF.Net for the rest of the fanfic as it's being written! If you want. Love you people!]For those who wanted to see Savitar redeemed and prefer Snow to Frost. Team Flash discovers a way to save their enemy and offer him a new home in an Earth with no Barry Allen. But when Caitlin accidentally becomes trapped on this Earth with the man who is and isn't Barry, how will she get home? And in the end, will she want to? SaviSnow, so kinda substitute Snowbarry. Canon-divergent.(It should be noted that in this multichapter superhero soap opera, only two things are different from the show's canon: Savitar wasn't faking it when accepting Team Flash's help with his paradox problem, and Caitlin was never wounded in Abra Kadabra so she never became Killer Frost. Also, no Julian here, only mentioned. Have fun, Jell-O Squares!)





	1. Watch Your Tone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after H.R.'s funeral, Team Flash struggles with the task ahead of them: saving their friend's murderer. Savitar doesn't make it any easier.

**(Author's Note: THERE ARE SOME THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW BEFORE READING. If you don't know these things, you will be confused and nobody wants that. This fanfic is _mostly_ canon-compliant, but there are a few ways in which it is canon-divergent. Not too much, though. Here they are:**

**1\. MOST IMPORTANTLY: In this fanfic, Caitlin never got hurt in Abra Kadabra, so she never flatlined, so she never became Killer Frost. I know we all love KF, but this fanfic is SaviSnow, not SaviFrost. ...Or is it?**

**2\. Savitar _did_ decide to let Team Flash help him. He wasn't faking it.**

**3\. Julian Albert will be mentioned in this fic, but will not appear. Sorry, Julian Fans! Love you lots!**

**I think that's about it. I thrive on comments. Enjoy! -Doverstar)**

 

It was the morning after H.R.'s funeral. The sun was obnoxiously bright outside, its light glinting off of S.T.A.R. Labs' glass double doors. Most people would feel that after the death of a friend, the universe would be a little courteous and at least go overcast, but the team still using the site of the renowned particle accelerator welcomed the nice day. The late drumstick carrier probably would've thought a good old thunderstorm would be perfect for his heroic demise—and not surprisingly, the makeshift family he left behind disagreed, as they often had when he was with them. A clear sky and a cool breeze felt more like H.R. to them than a gloomy drizzle. Optimistic, eager to please.

Caitlin Snow had been up working all night. She couldn't sleep, so of course she went and made herself useful. The events of the last day and a half kept her from even dozing; her hands were still unsteady as she tidied up her station before the others arrived. It wasn't her first death on the team, that wasn't it. The loss of this latest Wells was a dull throb deep inside, pushed to the pits of her mind in an effort to remain composed. It wasn't almost losing Iris, either. She and everyone else had been gearing up to say goodbye for months, just in case something went wrong. They hadn't expected to be saying it to H.R., though.

No, she'd stayed awake on pure adrenaline. Grief and trauma weren't enough to energize her anymore; they were old friends. The adrenaline came from knowing she wasn't alone in the building all night. She had to keep her guard up.

For the past four days, the man responsible for every inch of Team Flash's struggles recently had been bunking in their very own headquarters. Their safe haven, their home away from various homes, was no longer safe. At least, that was the way Caitlin saw it.

Savitar was asleep downstairs.

Poor Tracy had wanted to chuck the wicked speedster back into the Speed Force the moment Barry Allen had brought him to them, and no one could blame her. Joe had seconded this, but would settle for slinging him in the pipeline. Barry had nixed both ideas, insisting Savitar be given the guest room in the basement of the Labs.

Caitlin, along with the others, had been completely floored to think that Barry would be so risky with the villain who had, hours before, been hellbent on killing his fiancee. How could they just toss him a pillow and call it a night? And Barry of all people, defending him? 

But if anyone knew what was going on in Savitar's head, it was only logical it should be Barry. After all, it was his head. Sort of. Caitlin's science-loving mind had flocked to the semantics, but she could only analyze the time remnant's existence for so long before it was off to the pantry for an aspirin. Time loops were not nearly as easy as biology, and she was exhausted trying to understand it.

Impossible to be or not, Savitar was indeed being, and he was being only one floor below her, doing Lord knew what at that moment. She bit her lip, checking the security feed again. Sleeping. He was sleeping. _Think it out, Dr. Snow_ , Harrison Wells would've told her. Dr. Wells, the first one she'd met, mentor extraordinaire, before she knew him as the Reverse Flash. _What could he gain in confronting you? He's not exactly holding all the cards in this game anymore, is he?_ She could just see his patronizing smirk, hear the gentle chiding. Too bad he'd been a murderer. Sometimes she missed his calm observations, the hum of his wheelchair. He'd be right, too; Savitar was only there because he had lost any power he'd had over them. His plan had failed and he would be erased from existence—except, of course, that Team Flash had promised to save him. Now his life was in their hands. The irony.

Caitlin glanced at the monitor again, inhaling very slowly and running her tongue along the insides of her cheeks, a mental exercise in calming the nerves. Savitar still wasn't going anywhere. Though the image was fuzzy, she could see he was on his side, no blankets, he hadn't even changed clothes. For someone whose breathing spoke of sleep, his posture was practically crystalized. She wondered how anyone could sleep when they were that tense. Was he lying there wide awake, faking it? Staring into nothingness? She could think of few things creepier in the early morning hours with no sleep herself.

The sound of footsteps in the corridors behind her made her whip around. It couldn't be Barry, Wally, or Savitar; they wouldn't bore themselves with that average of a pace; they'd just explode on in, lightning everywhere. For a moment she checked for the smell of coffee. H.R. would be bringing her a treat from Jitters around this time, inhumanly chipper.

Then she remembered, and wondered if Tracy was waking up to the same memories at that moment.

Instead of Wells, Cisco entered the Cortex, carrying a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts and balancing his phone on top of the box, eyes glued to its screen. He was reading Iris' article on the latest Flash adventure, with a tribute to H.R. toward the end. Dr. Snow had read it twice over just after midnight, when Iris had copied it to her blog.

“What are you doing here so early?” Caitlin demanded, clearing a space on the desk for the donuts.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Cisco's voice was dull, his eyes weren't as bright as usual. It could've been the time, but Caitlin knew him well enough to know he wasn't sleepy—he was sad. As much as H.R. had pushed his buttons, Cisco would always feel empty without at least one Harrison Wells at his shoulder.

“Did you get me a cruller?” She wanted to cheer him up.If Cisco wasn't happy, no one was happy.

Cisco flipped the lid up with two fingers, using the other hand to boot up the other computer. At least three crullers had been included in the dozen, and though Caitlin didn't feel much like eating, she gingerly picked one for his sake. Calories soothed the soul.

“I couldn't sleep,” Caitlin explained, folding her donut in a napkin and dabbing at her lips. She took another look at her partner's expression, noticing the bags beneath his eyes. “I'm guessing you were having a little trouble with that yourself?” she added gently. 

Cisco shook his head slightly. “Hard to sleep when you know Mr. Hyde's waiting for you at work,” he muttered. He glanced at her. “Where is he?”

Caitlin turned the monitor so he could see it. “...Sleeping.”

Cisco leaned in to study the image, then actually curled his lip, scoffing. “Yeah, right. I bet you my cruller he's been plotting all night.”

“Cisco, what could he be plotting?” Caitlin tried not to sound too exasperated. They'd all been through so much in just three days. It wouldn't be fair to lose patience, but she was tired, and Cisco was just being petty. “It's not like he can do much of anything. Any minute he could be wiped from existence, remember?” She straightened in her chair. “Did you say your cruller?”

He picked one up. “One for you, one for me.”

“There are three of them.”

“Yeah, and this one's mine.”

“I don't eat the other kinds, Cisco.”

“Oops.” He stuffed half the treat into his mouth, cheeks bulging. He nodded to the screen showing Savitar's room, eyebrows puckering, grumbling around the donut, “Goob riffance.”

“We promised we'd help him,” Caitlin reminded him, but the tightening of her fingers against the bottom of her chair told him she agreed. Good riddance. 

Savitar may have been willing to accept help, but that didn't mean he was sorry. Their friend was dead, and that murder had been unintentional. What if it had been Iris after all? Barry never would have recovered. The Flash was made of gold—and though technically gold couldn't rust, if anything could cause him to, Caitlin knew it was losing Iris. Without her, it had been proven: he'd let himself become invaluable. And they couldn't have that. Not to mention what sweet Wally and her father Joe would've done. And then there was the icing on the cake. He'd trapped Wally in the Speed Force once, possessed Julian, deceived generations into worshipping him, and murdered hundreds. Tracy was right, he didn't deserve a future. But they had sworn to give him one.

“Did you come up with anything to solve his temporal problem?” Caitlin tossed her donut in the trash bin, wiping her hands. She really wasn't hungry.

Cisco swallowed the last of his breakfast. “Oh yeah, I lost a _lot_ of sleep over that one.” His eye-roll would've made Captain Cold jealous.

Caitlin gave him her sternest expression. “Well, I did. What do you think I was doing here all night?”

“Biting your lip and staring into space?” Cisco offered.

She handed him her notes, all business. “I keep trying to think of a way to anchor him to this plain, to anything, but...no luck. I even browsed some of those science-fiction blogs you have bookmarked,” she added sheepishly. “Nothing. No ideas on how to keep a loop like his from cancelling itself out. I mean, the only way he can stay is by doing what he was created to avenge—killing Iris.” She threw her hands up quickly. “And we are not condoning that. But without rectifying the hole we created in his timeline, it's going to suck him up.” She gripped both knees, meeting Cisco's eyes. Neither of them liked to admit defeat. “I don't know how we're going to save him.”

Cisco let out a puff of air that toyed with his shoulder-length hair. “We'll think of something. We got time before all that temporal zone energy comes to nab him.”

“How can you be sure? He could—” Caitlin cast out for the right word, gesturing with a hand, “—fade any minute.”

The smallest of smiles graced Cisco's face. He was getting that clever look in his eye, and Caitlin was glad to see it beneath the mourning. “I can track it.”

“You can track it,” Caitlin repeated, disbelief making her voice taut. “How?”

Cisco pulled up a diagram of the time stream he'd constructed on the nearest monitor. It was like looking at a hurricane, Caitlin mused, only more jagged and complicated. “I can feel it.” He grinned, insufferably proud. “Yeah. It's part of my powers—not like I'm vibing the rip, the Force ain't that strong with me—but I can sense there's something wrong in the energy on our Earth. A corrupted timeline, a jacked-up loop...it leaves a trail. I don't know how else to explain it,” he added apologetically, lifting a shoulder. “It's just there. So I did some calculations. We got at least two days before he should start writing a will.”

“But...” Caitlin looked at their ever-helpful glass demonstration board, then back at the diagram. She leaned forward, zooming in. “It's not that straightforward, I mean—we're dealing with a loop, something that doesn't make sense to begin with. Theoretically, anything could change, he could be gone in the next hour.”

Cisco folded his arms. “Nah, see, that's the thing, anything could change. Not killing Iris, coming here for help—everything unexpected he does slows it down. It's like it has to accommodate for the differences that keep taking place.”

Caitlin stood up, tearing her eyes from the screen. “So all we have to do is keep making changes?”

“That'll only delay it by like a hair,” Cisco had started typing, running tests, doing his thing. “It's too strong to be held back for much longer. Ready or not, Cait, he's got two days. That's it. So we've gotta work fast.” He paused, crossing his eyes a little. “This is all still just, like, speculation though, I mean I could be totally wrong and he's gone right now. Bye Felicia.”

They both looked sharply back at the security feed. Caitlin's eyes grew so wide, it hurt and she had to blink several times to keep the water at bay. 

“He's not there.” The bed was empty. Cisco gave her an equally alarmed glance. Caitlin swallowed. “Cisco—”

“Looking for somebody?” 

Cisco let out a very masculine shriek and Caitlin spun around, jumping at least three feet into the air in high heels.

She was never ever going to get used to it.

Savitar was not Barry Allen. Her Barry, their Barry. The forensic scientist with the child's smile and the hero who liked to play Operation. Savitar was a murderer and a liar. 

But he had Barry's face.

He had one green eye, ridiculously familiar, lacking the softness Caitlin was so fond of. His grin was the same grin Barry wore when he caught them all by surprise, showing up in the Cortex in a blur of light and papers. Same hair, same voice—a little throatier, but otherwise—the same height, the same posture. He even favored the right side of the desk the way Barry did. Only a network of scars and a milky left eye told them who they were really seeing. And he was looking at them with so much intelligence, so much calculation. He knew them, he knew their strengths and their weaknesses, he just stared and stared like he was reading a museum plaque. Caitlin hated that he watched them with their hero's eyes and that quirk of his mouth. As if he were deliberately playing the part, a substitute Barry for breakfast, ladies and gentlemen.

Cisco gritted his teeth at the duplicate. “Don't— _do_ —that!” he hissed.

Savitar gave him a perfectly baffled, mocking expression, reaching for the donuts. “What's the matter, Cisco? Trouble sleeping?” He himself sounded raspy, as if he really had just woken up, but there wasn't even a sign of bedhead. Caitlin started to think he really had been awake all along.

The waves of loathing she saw on her best friend's face were enough to boil the moon. Cisco was glaring at Savitar as if he were the devil incarnate. Savitar was blinking placidly back. The way his eyes remained half closed reminded Caitlin of the jeweled irises snakes were born with. Never impressed, always searching.

The tension was suffocating; Caitlin could see H.R.'s coffin reflected in the artificial light glinting off Savitar's jacket zipper. Cisco must have been imagining something similar. His shoulders had gone sharp and still.

But in true Cisco fashion, all he said was, dripping with ice, “No donuts for you.” And he lifted the box off of the desk, walking to another room as if to hide the cookies on the top shelf from a naughty child.

Savitar glanced at the screen the two scientists had been commenting on. Cisco must have switched it back to the diagram as he'd stalked off; the footage of the speedster's room was gone. 

There was a moment of silence as Caitlin watched Savitar and Savitar watched the monitor. Finally he said, exactly as if he were reading a very boring teleprompter, “How far have you gotten?”

Caitlin didn't trust herself to speak at first. She had barely spoken two words to this, the real Savitar, in the flesh—Barry's flesh—from the moment he'd revealed himself. She had avoided him from the start, not just because there was no light between them, the way there was between herself and the true Flash, but because talking to someone so familiar and distant was too much. Savitar was illogical, and Caitlin's sturdy mind sometimes refused to comply.

But he was asking for facts, in a friend's voice she had heard so often and listened to so intently, so her mouth began moving without asking her permission.

“We don't have a hard and fast solution yet, but we...did some calculations, and Cisco's powers coincide with the energy in the time stream—which is one of the reasons he's able to contact the sort of Limbo that is the Speed Force—and he was able to find out...” She fumbled for a moment, wondering if there was a tactful way to say this, “...how long you have until...”

“Until I disappear.” Savitar was motionless.

Caitlin wound the heels of her palms in opposite directions against one another, still watching him. “Right.”

Savitar let out one of Barry's snorts that substituted for a laugh. “ _Right_. You know, Doctor Snow, I think your bedside manner needs work.” He moved to look at her with his scars and smirk and Caitlin felt a snowstorm stir within her, held back by her necklace. She kept herself from envisioning what it would be like to shoot a few icicles his way. He did not get to turn to her with that cockiness, the look the Flash loved to sport after a successful mission, as she finished patching him up.

Caitlin stared back at him, trying not to get too caught up in his conversant appearance. If she thought about how impossible he was—to be so Barry and so not—where he came from—aspirin again. Instead she focused on maintaining a poker face. She'd had to practice it often enough when Cisco was around at work.

Savitar swung an arm up to gesture to the right-hand corner of his own mouth. “You got a little frosting right here, Cait.” He let the arm drop as she fixed it, nodding those many nods people nodded when they just knew everything. “I can see you guys are working _real_ hard on getting this right.”

Maybe it was the sarcasm, or the fact that she only let two people call her Cait, and Savitar was neither Barry nor Ronnie. Caitlin drew herself up, cold swirling behind her eyes.

“I don't think you're in any position to go criticizing our methods,” she told him quietly.

The smirk didn't slip off.

Cisco was back, talking a mile a minute before he'd fully entered the room, clearly speculating. “What we need is something to block detection, you know? Something to keep the paradox from finding him, like a, like a shield...” He snapped his fingers a few times, looking at the floor as he walked but not seeing it, coming around the desk to get to his computer. He bumped into Savitar, who was still favoring the right side.

Cisco started. Too close to Barry's burnt face, he drew back a little more than he needed to, brown eyes going hard again.

Savitar lifted a hand in a small wave, a jovial, plastic smile springing up. “Hi Cisco!”

“Are you still here?” Cisco looked Savitar up and down, shaking his head a little on his way around him.

“Sure looks like it, doesn't it, buddy?”

Cisco pointed a lollipop at him Caitlin hadn't realized he'd retrieved. “Don't call me that.”

Savitar's hands drifted to his pockets and he leaned against the desk, back to watching them. Caitlin didn't know how long he planned on standing there, but it wasn't exactly a big motivator. She saw Cisco still for a moment, looking at the keys without touching them.

“How uh, how's the view back there, Digiorno?” Cisco said loudly. “We're trying to get stuff done. Your legs broken?”

“Want me to break yours?” Savitar replied lazily.

Cisco turned around too quickly to maintain nonchalance. “Hey, okay, no! No, you don't get to make threats anymore, you got it? We could just be twiddling our thumbs here and watch you blip on out of time, but we're not. Because our _friend_ asked us to fix you. So how 'bout you show a little gratitude and leave us alone so we can save your clinically-insane butt? Huh?”

Savitar was laughing before Cisco had finished speaking. It was very quiet, and at first they didn't realize it was happening because he'd let his head droop. His shoulders bobbed. Caitlin had felt like slapping Barry before—usually after he'd done something stupid and she was cleaning a wound—but this was stronger; she could absolutely do it right now and not feel sorry later.

Caitlin put a hand on Cisco's shoulder, rubbing a little the way Ronnie used to do for him when Cisco 'gave up' on a project after an all-nighter.

But Cisco wasn't having it. Gently he pulled himself away from her and gave her a sulky, apologetic, “Nuh-uh, I need some air. I'm not doing this right now. Not for him.”

He flicked his lollipop into the trash bin with a thunk that should not have been loud given the lollipop's weight. With a last flower-withering glance at Savitar, Cisco stormed from the Cortex.

Savitar watched him go, and when he wasn't in view anymore, the speedster turned his bored stare to the ceiling.

“I don't know what we did to you to make you this way,” Caitlin found herself muttering, “but Cisco's right. Whatever it was, it doesn't give you an excuse to treat us this way. Barry brought you here to help you, even after everything you did.” Savitar met her eyes, expressionless. Caitlin felt the bitterness pool on her tongue, spitting out every word. Nobody messed with Cisco. “You are making it really difficult to try any harder.”

Savitar was inches from her before she could complete a blink. He was grinning now, one blue eye gleaming. “That's a lot of ice, Cait.” He took her necklace's pendant in one hand, between a finger and thumb. “You're not holding out on us, are you?”

Caitlin held his gaze bravely for a few seconds more, but it felt like a spider was crawling up her spine. She yanked away from him, moving to the other side of the desk. She could feel her hands growing colder. She should've moved away as soon as he approached, she shouldn't have let him anywhere near her necklace. Standing up to him was one thing, but if he'd managed to steal her trinket, she would've lost all control of herself. In the back of her mind, that same old logic was telling her the only thing he'd gain in making her Killer Frost at this point was a few wicked laughs, but she wasn't going to risk it anyway.

“It's too bad I don't have something like that,” Savitar went on, pointing to the necklace. “A failsafe that goes with my eyes. Well,” He raised an eyebrow. “One of them, anyway.”

Caitlin folded her arms around herself and waited. She couldn't work while he was in the Cortex. It was too soon after H.R., after Wally's injuries—which he was only just healing from—too soon after the night Iris nearly died.

She expected him to rattle off a few more taunts, but she was going to be disappointed. Savitar turned and slipped out of the room, so slowly she wondered if he were deliberately keeping from flashing out just to make her squirm.

Caitlin returned to the monitors, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the glow from her pendant. It was hard enough trying to figure out how to defy time and space. They were doing it for someone who deserved everything coming to him. More than one headache was going to be plaguing her before the morning was over.


	2. Jurassic Bling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Flash (or more accurately Cisco Ramon) have built a device that may or may not keep Savitar safe from the paradox threatening to engulf him.

**(I know this is a slow burn. Bear with me. Cisco's cute when he techno-babbles.)**

 

Caitlin felt as if she'd just fallen asleep when her phone burst into the chorus of Grease's _Summer Lovin'_ on her nightstand. She nearly fell out of bed trying to reach it, mind late to the party with exhaustion. She was already sleeping horizontally rather than vertically—it must've been the dreams she'd been having. 

She'd dreamt of Killer Frost and Ronnie in Iris' place on Infantino Street. One moment Barry had been beside her, they had both been in the grass, begging Savitar in his hulking armor to let Ronnie go. Caitlin had turned to Barry, only to see her own reflection in his eyes—she was Killer Frost. Where was her necklace? Caitlin had heard of people drawing an X on the backs of their hands, in an experiment designed to enhance one's dreaming. The theory was that if you had something—like an X on your hand—every day before sleeping for a few months, and noticed it gone, your brain would realize that a physical development that it had been becoming used to was now missing. In the wake of this revelation, you would become aware that you weren't awake, thus able to control the outcome of your dream. 

Caitlin had hoped, after Julian and Cisco had gifted her with the necklace, that it could work like that, and fight off the bad dreams she'd been having since she discovered her powers. But it hadn't. She had looked for the necklace in her nightmare, seeing the white, frozen ends of her hair too late, but it hadn't been there. And she hadn't woken up, or realized that what was around her wasn't real. Ice covered her boots, ran up her legs, past her waist, encasing her torso. She fought to free herself, so cold, but Caitlin couldn't move an inch. The Flash was still beside her, but he didn't seem to notice what was happening to her, who she was. His eyes were locked on the pavement several yards away, where Savitar held Ronnie by the neck.

“Let him go!” Caitlin had screamed, as the ice claimed her shoulders. Her voice sounded rushed, shivering with something else—echoes chasing up and down her words. Killer Frost's tones.

Barry was saying something, bent double, ready to dash, but though she saw his mouth moving, Caitlin couldn't hear any of it. She saw his fingers curl into his palms.

A glance back at the villain told her Savitar was aiming the metal spear at Ronnie's chest. Ronnie was saying her name, she knew, but smoke rolled from his open mouth and she couldn't make it out. His eyes were shooting sparks. The metal spear was inches from his back.

“Barry, save him!” Caitlin had shrieked. In desperation, she gave one final jerk, and the ice shattered around her. Yes! She moved to approach the pavement, the cold swirling from both palms. “ _Flash_!” She needed him.

Suddenly he stood in her way. “That's not my name.”

Now she could hear him? Caitlin slammed into his chest, her momentum and his unexpected movement causing a collision. 

“No—” Caitlin stared into Savitar's one good eye. He was wearing Barry's S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt, looking triumphantly over his shoulder at the steps. The true Flash was nowhere to be seen; he'd abandoned this dream.

Savitar's armor took its cue, stabbing Caitlin's fiancee through the heart. Ronnie burst into flames, and when Caitlin screamed, it sounded like the vibrating of a cell phone.

Then she'd jolted awake.

Now she untangled herself from the sheets, reaching for her phone as the blasts of _Summer Lovin'_ rocked it against the wood of her nightstand.

“What is it, Cisco?” she groaned, sitting up straight.

“Meet me at S.T.A.R. Labs! I think I solved our paradox problem.”

 

When Caitlin first met Cisco, employed by Dr. Wells, she'd had to grow used to the unorthodox ways he came up with most of his genius devices. Hartley had been jealous with good reason. An IQ number like Cisco's could be found elsewhere, of course, but the code his head and imagination had been written in wasn't likely to be copied in this universe or any other. The first time she'd noticed this, Cisco had swaggered past her workstation, heading straight for Wells' office, holding a box of Lite Brites and wearing 3D theater glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. When Caitlin had asked why he was bringing toys to work, Cisco had chosen to demonstrate rather than give her an earful. He'd figured out how to charge the particle accelerator's power source without giving half the city a blackout, something that had been a roadblock for the S.T.A.R. Labs team for months until then. 

It was for this reason that she wasn't surprised when, joining the team in their usual croissant-shaped gathering stance in the Cortex, Cisco rubbed his hands together and said to them, “So this morning I spilled orange juice on my pants and I figured out how to save little mister Mirror Match.”

Iris' eyebrows dipped. “You spilled orange juice on your pants?”

Joe grunted. “Done that before. 'Cept mine was coffee. _Hot_ coffee.”

Everyone immediately looked Cisco's lower half up and down. Wally was hiding a smile with a fist, no doubt trying to look mature. Barry's head was cocked like a puppy's.

“Obviously I changed before I got here.” Cisco rolled his eyes heavenward; for someone so goofy, he seemed to become exasperated with the smaller minds around him more and more often. He must have picked up a few things from Harry. “Okay, forget the OJ, people, all right? Let's talk about this.”

He held up what looked like a very heavy, bronze slap-bracelet, the kind you could get at a convenience store to entertain the kid waiting in the car. It wasn't a perfect, whole band; there was an opening to accommodate all wrist sizes.

Cisco's face told them all it was Christmas morning. Their faces told him Game of Thrones had dropped another plot twist.

“It's not finished—still got some bugs to work out, but this is totally the answer.” He looked around at them, wide-eyed. “It's a frequency equalizer, y'all.”

Barry glanced at Caitlin with raised eyebrows. Caitlin looked back distractedly, mind whirling to translate. There was a beat, then Family West, with their same average, loving genes, all started talking at once.

“Mm.” Iris nodded hard. “You're gonna have to—”

“—need to break it down a little more—” Joe was saying.

“I only speak English, bro—” Wally showed his palms.

“He means,” Barry began, gesturing with one hand and holding his coffee in the other, “that he's gonna...it's...” He paused, rolling his head around to look at Cisco. “Yeah man, I'm sorry, what is it?”

“Please,” chimed Caitlin, who was still trying to understand without additional information.

Cisco sighed, long-suffering. “This explains why you all go to bed before midnight. Okay—think of it like Jurassic Park.”

Caitlin looked to the floor, picturing a buggy in the rain. Barry was squinting at Cisco. Family West did not seem any less frustrated. Caitlin's eyes cut longingly to her workstation, wondering how long it would be before Cisco's presentation was wrapped up and she could get back to things that made sense, back to her element. 

“So you know how they keep saying in Jurassic Park that if you move, the big bad tyrannosaur's gonna see you and you dead?” Cisco raised his eyebrows practically to his hairline. “It's the same kind of thing with Savitar and the paradox. If it can't detect him, it can't erase him.”

“And that thing keeps it from seeing him?” Joe demanded, pointing with his phone to the bronze band in Cisco's hand.

“Exactly.” Cisco pointed back with said band, delighted someone was understanding his genius. “It's all about the temporal zone, friends! Our timeline's all screwed up cuz of Savitar losing when he wasn't supposed to lose—congrats, Team Flash—and it's a big wave of Laws of Time energy coming after him. But, if we give him something to shield him—”

“Like camouflage,” Barry interjected, eyes bright.

Cisco beamed at his buddy. “Like camouflage, the energy won't come near him and he's safe. We basically had to toss a blanket over him so the paradox couldn't see him.”

“You're talking like the paradox is sentient,” Caitlin interrupted. She was fingering her necklace's pendant. “It can't see where he'll be. How can we work off of that theory? It's too risky.”

Cisco held up a hand to her, his usual chill, girl pose. “Work with me, Caitlin. This shield thing was your idea, remember? It's like a disease—diseases aren't sentient, right? But they just 'know' where to go and what to hit to compromise the body. If Savitar can't be found, he can't be zapped, problem solved.” He paused, another eye-roll coming on, muttering as an afterthought, “ _His_ problem, anyway.” Cisco waved his hands, returning to the point. “So I started thinking. How do we hide him from the paradox?”

“You said it's all about the temporal zone,” Barry offered, letting Wally steal his coffee for a sip so he could fold his arms.

Cisco nodded, clapping his hands together. “And what is the temporal zone, you may ask?”

“We do ask, Cisco,” Iris confirmed impatiently.

This only seemed to make him cheerier. “It's Limbo, you guys. It's this little tunnel outside of time, like a subway to get whenever you wanna go. Time doesn't touch it. How do you think the Legends get around history without a Speedster?” Cisco wiggled his eyebrows at Barry, who was looking surprised. “Uh huh, yeah, I'm up to date.” Everyone else ignored this, clearly ready for the explanation to end. He stepped forward, holding his band aloft for all to see. “All the different Earths vibrate at a different frequency. This little baby will allow Savitar to vibrate at the same frequency as the temporal zone.”

A lightbulb exploded in Caitlin's brain. She could practically hear it pop. Excitement surged through her, the exact feeling she'd gotten when she started understanding algebra for the first time at a mere eight years old.

“So as far as the paradox can tell,” she managed, grinning with discovery, “he'll be outside of time!”

“Just like the temporal zone,” Barry added, in that breathy way that told Caitlin he was impressed.

“Standing still,” Cisco finished, practically dancing. “So the T. Rex don't see him.” He handed Barry the band. “I call it the Hammond Cuff.”

“That's brilliant, Cisco,” Caitlin praised.

“But _we'll_ see him, right?” Iris checked, obviously still a step behind the room's biggest nerds. Her eyes were glued to the Hammond Cuff.

“No worries.” Cisco waved a hand at her for spoiling their moment with technicalities. “You can see me when I'm vibing, but I'm moving at a different frequency than this Earth—it'll be the same for him.”

“And...how do we know for sure this is gonna work?” Joe cleared his throat.

Cisco's eyebrows puckered defensively. “Oh, because my stuff's always so unreliable?”

“Yes,” they all answered. Barry coughed something that sounded suspiciously like _cold gun_ , and, strangely, Caitlin wanted to laugh. It was good to be winning again, to have something figured out. She could tell the others were lifted too.

“We'll find out if it really works in two days, no matter what,” she announced. Dr. Snow shrugged a shoulder, physically apologizing to Cisco for taking his tell. “Cisco did some Vibe calculating. The paradox won't wait longer than that.”

“I'll go wake him up, let him know.” Barry handed the Hammond Cuff back to Cisco, heading for the door.

Wally shook his head. “You know, for a psycho super villain, he likes sleepin' in.”

Iris joined her father and brother as they, too, moved for the exit. There wasn't much the three of them could do here; they were hardly the brains of the operation. “I guess thousands of years in the Speed Force going crazy really takes it out of you.”

“He can sleep all he wants,” Joe grumbled. “I like him better unconscious.”

 

 

Caitlin knew Barry could be impatient. Anyone with super speed would be. But Barry, according to stories Joe and Iris told over dinners and holidays, had just always wanted things to get started, even as a kid. He wanted to be more, and everything went too slowly. A lot of people, especially intelligent people, knew that time could just drag on and on some days. Magnify that feeling about three hundred times—that was how Barry must have felt daily. When you were faster than the whole world...what could be more frustrating than that?

And it seemed to Caitlin that all of Barry's negative traits—pride, bitterness, and yes, impatience, to name a few—were the threads used to stitch together Savitar. Barry had proven that his true personality, his humanity, was still somewhere inside that scarred, broken shell with his face and his wit. But everything acting as the organs, the bones, the skin around that heart—it was all Barry's worst qualities.

Telling Barry Allen to take a day to heal before heading back onto the field was like keeping a younger sibling from touching the stove while you weren't looking.

Telling Savitar he had to wait two days to find out of he'd be allowed to exist anymore was like praying the Lord would end the suffering as the kid searched for other forms of entertainment.

At first, they hadn't seen him. Not after Barry went to fill him in on Cisco's Hammond Cuff. Barry had assured them he wasn't a threat over and over, and if Barry said it, they had to believe it. That didn't keep them from feeling just a little off as they worked through the day, knowing he was wandering the building with nothing left to do now that he wasn't plotting to make them miserable.

Barry had gone to be a forensic scientist—which was apparently something he still did—with Joe at the CCPD. His real job. Iris had gone home, probably to plan the wedding. She'd been recuperating at the apartment a lot since H.R. had taken her place. Barry had explained she'd need time. Wally was out saving the day as Kid Flash, and Caitlin had one eye on his vitals in the Cortex as he stopped robberies and saved cats from trees. The other eye was on Cisco, who was on the other end of the room, hard at work on his Hammond Cuff.

Every step in the corridors had Caitlin looking over her shoulder, expecting dark hair and a darker outfit, expecting Savitar to come around the corner. 

Each time she saw him, her brain and her emotions had a full-blown Presidential debate. Because it was Barry, her emotions said as she recognized him. Her own personal superhero, her friend, her confidant, the man that made her angrier than anyone and completely safe. A flashlight of a person.

And then her brain would shove her emotions out of the way, because no, it was Savitar. Savitar, who terrorized Julian and took H.R. from them, the man who would kill Iris West and split Team Flash down the middle as if they had shared nothing at all, ever, with his smirk and eyes that said he was out of his mind. Complete, unlimited wickedness.

Now that complete, unlimited wickedness knew he may or may not have had two days left to live, he was all the more intolerable. Clearly unenthused by the wait time.

Caitlin didn't realize how long he'd been lingering in the doorway until she glanced at the dormant monitor to her left, seeing him behind her in the reflection. She turned in her chair, a little too quickly.

Savitar didn't seem to want much conversation. He'd become one with the wall, friendly with the shadows, staring at what little he could see of the Hammond Cuff past Cisco's hunched form.

Caitlin watched him, wondering if he'd notice...well, that _she'd_ noticed. Noticed him. He couldn't lounge in the corner forever. It was childish, but she felt if he knew she was aware of him, he wouldn't be so smug, standing there. So nonchalant and detached, uncaring while they worked. He wasn't sneaky, this wasn't her first rodeo, she knew he was there, she won. But he didn't look at her. Boy, she missed Barry when he was gone.

They had faced the Reverse Flash, Zoom, time wraiths, all kinds of evil. It was so new to have that kind of inhumanity living among them. Yes, Thawne and Zoloman had done it for a while, but that was when they'd deceived the team. They hadn't known there was a serial killer beneath their roof, making friends. 

This was different. The worst foe they had ever faced, the jolt behind every sleepless night and the sting behind every helpless tear. The reason Iris had spent early mornings at Jitters with Caitlin because Barry was being the Flash and his fiancee could _not_ be alone in that apartment. The reason Wally had cried in his sleep every night for the past month, according to Joe. The reason Barry would slip away, into his own mind where none of them could see him, more often now than ever before. Glazed green eyes, fixated on what he could become and the possibility of losing the girl he couldn't live without. 

And he was just _standing_ there. Savitar. Cisco could barely handle breathing his air, Iris avoided his eyes, Joe refused to look at him altogether. Wally's face lost all arrogance and color when they shared a room, even for a minute; Kid Flash just seemed genuinely afraid. Only Barry seemed undaunted, and Caitlin knew it was because he was the one person who knew exactly what was happening in that mauled brain. He knew what Savitar was feeling—because Barry knew what _he_ could feel, the potential, what he had felt before, and Savitar was all of that times a thousand. 

That was all Caitlin had to hear. If Barry promised Savitar was done punishing them, then that was all there was to it. No one else could make a better argument; seeing the two speedsters standing in the same building was argument enough.

Of course, this didn't make it easy to have him around. Especially when he had a very obvious expiration date.

“How's it coming?” he asked suddenly, each word a dull brick dropping into the air, making both scientists jerk.

Cisco shook his head, not turning around to acknowledge him further.

Savitar unfolded his arms and craned his neck to catch another glimpse of the device that could save his life. “It's running on temporal energy, isn't it?” 

Everything he said was sandpaper. Caitlin was so unaccustomed to hearing Barry say anything without the maximum amount of emotion. Deadpan was so not him, it was fascinating to watch it come out anyway.

Cisco was not giving Savitar anything. Caitlin's eyes followed the speedster as he made his way to Ramon's workstation. She felt her arms tingle, ready for the inevitable smartmouth face-off about to get underway. Savitar got off on making Cisco uncomfortable. The engineer was very easy to disconcert. Cisco's lungs and tone had been longing for a punching bag. Wells' murderer was the perfect target.

She wanted to say something, every time they went toe-to-toe. Killer Frost would've gotten right into the thick of things, she knew. Probably would've taken over Cisco's side completely, matching Savitar insult for insult, cutting deeper and deeper. But she wasn't Killer Frost. She wouldn't allow it, never again. If that meant knowing when to let her own tongue loose, well, wasn't that wisdom? Cisco and Savitar could argue until the two of them were blue in the face. Caitlin and Killer Frost were both good at picking their battles. She bit her lip and stayed silent.

Savitar reached for the Hammond Cuff, and Cisco jerked it away like a toddler protecting its favorite toy.

“I want to see it,” Savitar said, as coolly and simply as if he were saying the sky was blue.

“There it is,” Cisco replied in an undertone, eyes like chips of shrapnel. He uncovered the Hammond Cuff for a split second. “You can see it fine.”

The speedster chortled. Savitar's hand moved at superhuman speed, of course, and in a heartbeat he was turning the device over and over, examining every inch of it. His finger ran over the lightning bolt carved into the inside of the band, Cisco's chosen signature on any tech made for the Flash. Caitlin wondered briefly if he'd done it out of habit or because, in a way, this Hammond Cuff had been made for the Flash. A version of him, anyway. 

Savitar was looking at the signature bolt so long, it was as if he'd gone to sleep standing up. His right eyebrow was a little lower than his left, and his nose wrinkled very slightly—you guessed it—just like Barry's. Barry had worn the same expression when he showed Caitlin Joe's old photo albums that past Christmas Eve, pointing to a picture he couldn't remember posing for. It depicted a seven year old Allen on his front porch with little Iris eating ice cream, his mother in the background. Barry had looked at the photo as if drinking the last drop of water after spending all day in the heat. 

Savitar was studying the lightning bolt sign with just as much desperation. And only Caitlin was seeing it.

“It's not finished yet,” she explained, voice hoarse from hours without use.

Savitar's eyes tore from the band and met hers, and she wished she hadn't said anything. They were so guarded— _no_ , it was impossible he could ever be Barry Allen. Nowhere, nothing could make Barry, their _Barry_ , look like that. Those eyes had never been that locked and empty and cold, not when they were looking at her. Barry wanted to help, he just wanted to help everyone, and those mismatched eyes said there wasn't anyone in the world to help. Logic was abandoning her; her brain would not accept what was standing several feet away. That wasn't Barry. That couldn't be Barry and probably had never been Barry. 

_But it is._ How _could he get this way?_ As his personal physician, Caitlin wanted to analyze the problem and prescribe a solution. Not that he would ever allow that. Because that wasn't Barry.

It was like he could feel her curling away from him, when she had been stepping closer to observe just moments before. Savitar dropped the Cuff back onto Cisco's table, more gently than he could have, and went on gazing at Caitlin as if he were now watching a dying insect in the corner.

“When will it be ready?”

Caitlin, relieved he had released Cisco's all-important device, found her voice again. “We're not sure—”

“It'll be done a lot faster if you quit interrupting,” Cisco muttered to the former god of speed, pulling his Vibe goggles from around his neck and strapping them on.

Savitar rolled his eyes across the walls and up to the ceiling, the perfect image of the Flash during a lecture from the Arrow. “I can help you,” he said tartly. “You don't think I know a thing or two about temporal energy? You trapped me in the Speed Force for decades, remember?”

“Uh, no, Doc, no, we don't, we don't remember that.” Cisco ripped his goggles off and slapped them down on the table, gesturing patronizingly between himself and Caitlin with a finger. “See cuz, we aren't there yet, welcome to the past! Where we ain't done nothing to your medium-rare hiney!”

Savitar watched him, unimpressed. Not rising to the bait.

Cisco scoffed. “You're not getting anywhere near this thing, okay? Like I'm gonna let you get your hands on another piece of our tech. It's done when it's done.” Back on the goggles went. “Go bother somebody else, Daddy's busy.”

There was a sickly flash of yellow light, and Savitar wasn't beside Cisco anymore. Caitlin waited for her partner to turn around, maybe rave about the nerve of the murderer, or at least search for comfort in a glance. But Cisco bent over his work and stayed there, tunnel vision, fully focused again. Shutting it all out. 

Caitlin would talk to him later; she had work of her own to take care of. Wally's vitals were no longer onscreen. He must've taken off his suit. She checked the time—2:15. He was probably at school, she surmised, rolling in her chair and turning to the other screen to boot it up. Time to get back to...

A gasp made her throat cold. “Yes?” she forced out.

Savitar was leaning over the screen, standing on the other side of the desk with his arms folded across the top of the monitor. “What do we have going on over here?” 

Caitlin blinked at him, not comprehending. He just made her stiff, like Ronnie had just died yesterday. Everything he was was incorrect. 

“What are you still doing in this room?” she hissed icily, lowering her voice so that Cisco wouldn't be disturbed. His goggles were on; he was probably tapping into some of that temporal energy. He shouldn't be able to hear them.

Nevertheless, Savitar glanced carelessly over his shoulder at Cisco, talking in an equally hushed tone. “Daddy's busy.” 

He flashed to the chair beside her—she blinked and he was on her left. His scars were like looking at toasted bread through a microscope, and she fought the primal urge to make a face at the close-up she was being given.

“What's Mommy working on?” he demanded. The question was a lemon—bright on the outside, sour on the inside. Thinly coated by Barry's teasing, motivated by Savitar's general contempt toward her and the entire team.

Caitlin closed her eyes for a moment. Her heart was pounding so loudly; he'd hear it and feed on the fear of him that was still all too present. _Calm your nerves. Deep breaths. One...two...three..four...five...six—_

Savitar snapped his fingers inches from her ear, over and over, _clickclickclick_. “Hey.”

Caitlin felt the wheels of her chair roll three paces from his, heels shuffling across the floor to put distance between them at the sound of his hand anywhere near her head. Her eyes snapped open.

Savitar paused, arm still aloft to snap some more, as if her movement surprised him. His face very intentionally told her it didn't. He shifted back into that relaxed, tired teenager posture he was so fond of. “It's kinda rude to shut down and count to ten when someone's talking to you, don't you agree, Doctor Snow?”

Caitlin felt rather than saw Cisco turn to look at them. Her gaze traveled all over Savitar's face, but it gave away nothing. She shouldn't have been so startled by his words. But she couldn't help it. She knew the answer, and yet: “How did...”

“Come on, Caitlin.” Savitar raised his eyebrows, tone adding really? to the response. The corners of his mouth curled into another horrible grin. “Who taught you that?”

It was the smile. Every time. It froze her blood. What he was implying had Caitlin shooting to her feet, unable to be that near to a face she loved so well and a gray voice she really, really hated. “ _Barry Allen_ taught me that,” she snapped.

Caitlin switched off the monitor and stormed from the room.


	3. Good Ol' Savitar Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Savitar remembers the day he was created, the day on which 2024's Flash and his friends shunned him. With Cisco's Hammond Cuff complete, the rogue time remnant is forced to face an unknown future after being saved by the same people whose future rejection still haunts him.

**(Savitar's existence and creation on the show still makes my head hurt, but I gave it my best shot based on what was explained to us. Don't torch me too badly. Also, comments keep me writing. I'm a glutton for feedback, give me all your feels. -Doverstar)**

 

The smell was what really bothered him.

The smell of the Cortex. It smelled like clean laundry—probably because of the care Cisco gave to the Flash suit. It smelled like Big Belly Burger, particularly around the main desk, where Team Flash regularly ate on the go, bouncing ideas off of each other. It smelled like Cetacaine in Caitlin's wing of operations, liquid anesthesia for an ailing hero. It smelled like home.

The smell that hit him when he woke up each day in S.T.A.R. Labs, after accepting Team Flash's help, made him crazy. Well, crazi _er_. It was familiar. An eternity in the Speed Force kept him from that scent, and he'd needed the distance.

Whenever he was in the Cortex now, forced to drink in that smell, suffocating him, it took him backward faster than anything else had, all this time. Well—rather, it took him _forward_. Backward for him, forward for all of them. 

To the day he became who he was, the day everything inside of him got sick.

Every time he closed his eyes, Savitar saw their faces. 

 

Back when he'd still been a copy of Barry, in 2024, back when he still _was_ Barry Allen in his own mind. He had just pulled off his suit's red hood, looking over his own hands, his arms, down over his body, not quite believing he was still alive. The only time remnant to survive. Moments ago, he had watched the God Of Speed slaughter the others his original self had created, before the metal-clad villain was shot into the Speed Force by Tracy's _finally_ successful bazooka. The gun had worked—just not soon enough; Iris was already dead. 

But they had stopped him. At last. Savitar was defeated, seven years too late.

Barry Allen's last time remnant had gazed around the room, breathing hard, the left half of his face unfeeling and caked in blood from the fight he'd just helped finish.

“We did it,” he had breathed out, tasting the blood as it leaked into his open mouth. It didn't matter. It proved he was flesh and bone, Savitar hadn't killed him too.

2024's Cisco Ramon was watching him with fascination, metal hands clicking as he rubbed them together the way he had in the old days, near his chin, when something was just so impossible, he couldn't get over it. 

“You're alive,” Cisco had said, squinting. Though the remnant could tell he was excited, there was something else there too—wariness? Why was he looking at him like that? They'd won. Iris was avenged. It wouldn't bring her back, but at least her murderer hadn't gotten off in the end. At least they could still do this for her. 

The hollow that had opened in Barry since Iris' death was in the remnant, too. The black hole in his heart, sucking in everything that mattered anymore. If it was in the original, it was in his remnant. But after seeing the others massacred not even twenty minutes ago, this remaining copy was too in awe of the actual _life_ , the many breaths he would get to take, stretching out before him to feel the hollow. Just for now, he was distracted from the pain.

The real Barry—the one that had created the remnants—returned to the Cortex a moment later, lightning in his wake. He had stared at the time remnant, walking in a circle around him.

“He left one?” The Barry Allen of 2024 had sounded exhausted when he said it. Drained, broken. As if it didn't really matter either way. “Why?”

Cisco did not look at his old friend straight on, choosing instead to keep studying the time remnant. “Not sure. Maybe it was an accident.”

“He doesn't make accidents,” Barry had murmured, coming in close to his remnant. “You can't stay here.”

That was how it had begun. _You can't stay here._ The remnant had appealed to Cisco. He knew 2024's Ramon was desperate to reform Team Flash, after Barry Allen had shut it down. Iris' death marked the end of Central City's crimefighting undergrounders, because the Flash would not allow it to continue. The time remnant had offered to rebuild, but for some reason, Cisco wasn't interested.

“You're not the real Flash,” he had murmured, staring right into the duplicate's remaining eye, resigned to hopelessness.

_You're not the real Flash._

The remnant remembered meeting Cisco. The first thing he had heard when he dragged out of that 9-month coma was an adequate sing-along to _Poker Face_ , and when he opened his eyes, the smell of a lollipop and the sight of friendly brown eyes had been waiting for him. The remnant remembered the hugs and the fist bumps. He remembered forgiving him for revealing the Flash's identity in an attempt to save his brother's life. He remembered supporting Cisco through his early days using his Vibe abilities. He remembered sharing burgers and going to the movies. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Cisco's loyalty and jokes and love.

But Cisco didn't want him.

The remnant had gone to Wally. Wally, who was still recovering at home from his own solo battle with Savitar. Recovering from a shattered spine. After Iris' death, Wally West had been enraged, willing to risk his own life to avenge his sister. He went after the God of Speed himself. Day by day, his speech decreased. Day by day he ate less and less, and he stopped moving from room to room in his wheelchair. 

 

“Wally—Wally, it's me, it's Barry.” The remnant kept the mask on this time, stifling his injuries as best he could, kneeling at Wally's chair, hands gripping its metal arms.

Wally's eyes had focused on him, just for a moment. But it wasn't enough. He wouldn't say anything. He didn't seem to understand he was being spoken to. So the remnant pulled the hood off.

“We won, we won, we beat him. We beat Savitar, man. We got him. Wally? Wally, please—”

Somehow, in his bleary state, Wally had seen it. He'd seen the remnant for what he was, without a moment's doubt. He made sure he got it out, too-long spaces between each word as his mind struggled to stay in the present. In his eyes, someone had taken his mentor and aired him out, so that the holes could be seen clearly—

“No. You're not my brother.”

_You're not my brother._

The remnant remembered when Wally had showed up on the Wests' front door one Christmas night. The kid had walked in and headed straight for the apple cider, ignoring the eggnog—just as Barry had done at the beginning of the festivities. He had been sent reeling at dark eyes like Iris' and a laugh like Joe's. He remembered helping Wally with his school project. He remembered giving up his speed for Wally, training Wally. He remembered teasing Iris and racing side by side and spending Mother's Day together. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Wally's admiration and smile and love.

But Wally didn't want him either.

The remnant stumbled out of the living room. He wanted his dad. He wanted his dad.

Joe was in Iris' old room. Everything was the same, even the soccer ball underneath the bed. He was looking through a high school yearbook, ignoring a ringing cell phone on the bed. 

“Joe,” he had whispered, “I need your help.”

The temporal duplicate had launched, babbling with nerves, into explaining himself. But Joe West hadn't seen or heard from Barry Allen in seven years, not since he'd lost his daughter, so that face already wasn't welcome. And when he heard the words _Savitar_ and _time remnant_ , Joe held up a hand. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but they were also as sharp as if he were on the job. His head swung back and forth, slowly, and his gaze was fixed on an old picture sitting on the nightstand.

“Get out,” he had whispered back. “Get out, you're not him, you're not mine.”

_You're not mine._

The remnant remembered Joe's firm hand on his shoulder. Eleven years old, trembling, pushed gently for every step forward as he entered the West household for his first ever night there. He remembered Joe's silhouette against the moonlight from his bedroom window, sitting with him until he fell asleep, afraid of the Man In Yellow. The remnant remembered being taught how to drive, Joe in the shotgun seat. He remembered showing Joe how his new abilities could allow him to change his voice. He remembered calling Joe 'Dad' before running into the time stream, he remembered moving back in. He remembered the smell of pizza and decorating the Christmas tree and a firm, comforting arm around his shoulders. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Joe's selflessness and tears and love.

But Joe didn't want him.

None of them _wanted_ him. 

Utterly alone, heart heaving, refusing to break, gasping and shuddering instead, the time remnant had wandered the world at a dead run. Running harder than he had ever run in his life. But was it _his_ life? Was it his? Wasn't it Barry's, wasn't _he_ Barry? Why didn't they want him? Everything his family, his friends, _his_ people had ever been to him, everything he thought he knew they had felt for him, was now null and void. 

It was spinning, too blurry to see anymore. Like it hadn't been there at all. It was more than betrayal, it was just a lie. 

Even if he was a copy, a temporal duplicate, a time remnant, wasn't he still Barry Allen, their Barry Allen? 

And wouldn't they help Barry Allen? 

Didn't they love Barry Allen? Didn't they love him?

A lie. They didn't need him. They had one already. A spare Flash, that was what he was, a disposable hero, an aberration. _Aberration, noun: a departure from what is normal, usual, or expected, typically one that is unwelcome._ One that is unwelcome. Not Barry Allen. What was he supposed to do if he wasn't? 

What was he doing here? Alive?

He remembered every second with every one of them, how was he supposed to go on without any of them?

He had already lost Iris—or had Barry lost Iris? He was losing them, too. 

Why couldn't it stop, why did he lose everyone? 

Had he ever had them to begin with? 

Cisco, Iris, Joe, Wally, Caitlin, Julian, Harrison Wells—he wasn't Barry, he wasn't, not to them. If he wasn't Barry Allen to them, who could he be? 

It was too much. Everything circled back in his mind, the world was too tiny, he couldn't get away. Time remnant. Not Barry. He was running like Barry. He felt the power and the wind rush past his damaged face, but there wasn't color in it anymore. 2024, full of lights and sounds and _colors_. He couldn't see any of it. No color. Red wasn't the right one for him anymore. 

It was cracking him open. Should he go back and reason with them? Anger made the Speed Force zap and writhe behind his good eye. _They don't deserve it._ Was this how they had felt all along? Only one Barry? If another Barry, _their Barry_ , just a copy, needed them, they couldn't be bothered? This was what he had been to them all along. They needed to be punished. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

A speedster shouldn't hurt. He shouldn't have to feel pain, a duplicate of the Fastest or not. He had too much power, too much in him, to feel pain. 

So he would become a god. Gods didn't feel pain. 

The time remnant would be Savitar. God of Speed. It all made sense now. _Of course._ This was why he had lived, why the other remnants had to die. He wouldn't need anyone else. He would show them. He would show Barry Allen, the 'real' Barry Allen, what it was like to be abandoned and forgotten this way. They wanted one Flash? They could have him. 

Savitar, brain crumpled, knew _exactly_ how to break them. He had lived it.

_They didn't want him._

 

 

And the smell of the Cortex today reminded him.

Back to 2017, their present, his past.

He needed their help. They wanted to give it to him. They wanted to save him—or at least, Barry Allen did. Iris did. The others were of a more dented metal, not quite as gold, but he had a sneaking feeling they didn't want to see him die anymore either. 

He didn't want to admit why. He didn't want to admit he had been wrong in 2024, when he had decided to become Savitar. But he could feel it. He could feel them recognizing him as Barry Allen—but only conditionally. _A_ Barry Allen, not _the_ Barry Allen. He was both to them. He was Barry when the paradox was clawing for him, but he was Savitar everywhere else. Their enemy. They would never all be friends again. 

But they were too _good_ to watch him disappear helplessly after he had accepted their way out. It couldn't really be that they saw what he had begged them to see at the beginning of his creation—their Flash. 

No, they didn't see him. But they cared just enough. And he would have to take it in sooner or later. But until then, the bitterness and the memories had him biting at them every chance he got. Making Cisco lash out, making Joe uncomfortable, making Iris guilty. Funny how that last one worked; he loved a good dose of irony. 

“ _Slow down, Barry! You can't eat the whole bake case in one sitting!_ ”

Savitar winced, leaning against the corridor wall. Images flicked through his mind. New memories.

“ _Wally , you wanna top me off here, son?"_

 _“Look—I'm not kidding, Jitters makes the best muffins on the planet. Iris, take a bite of this._ ”

Oh. The Wests were having breakfast at Central City's favorite coffee supplier. Savitar could taste that blueberry muffin now, licking his lips. He could see Iris' smile, hear Joe's mug sliding across the table as Wally held out the pitcher of java. 

Savitar's fingers went to his temples, massaging slowly. He'd had breakfast with them today. Or Barry had. Good. It had been good. No metas, no murders, the only problem was that they'd picked the table too close to the window and the morning sun had been in his eyes the whole time. Heaven, practically, all he needed. Muffins and his family. He remembered how full his heart had been.

And he also remembered a timeline where he hadn't done any of that. A timeline where Iris died. A timeline where he was alone. He—Barry. Where Barry was alone.

“You look like Hell,” Cisco greeted him as Savitar finally braved the Cortex. He tried to ignore the smell this time. 

Ramon and Snow were at the main desk, surrounded by papers, three different monitors showing three different, never-ending calculations. The glass demonstration board was completely covered in numbers, question marks, circles and theories. Savitar didn't take the time out to speedread it _all_ , but he gathered that they had probably been up all night working on the Hammond Cuff. Caitlin hadn't even changed out of her rarely-worn S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt.

“Really?” Savitar raised both eyebrows, feigning surprise. “I guess getting new memories can do that to you, Francesco.”

“'Kay, add that to the list of things you are never ever allowed to call me,” Cisco started in on him.

Caitlin cleared her throat loudly. “Speaking of new memories,” she interrupted, “I think I've found a way to fix that for you.”

Savitar spared her a glance. She didn't know it now, but one of the biggest divergences from his timeline and hers was her own identity. Caitlin Snow should have been wounded when Abra Kadabra escaped the pipeline. She should have become Killer Frost. He still had that timeline in his memory, he still recalled what it was to have her as an ally in his ascension.

But somehow, that hadn't happened. She hadn't undergone surgery, hadn't flatlined, hadn't embraced her darkest side. She was Doctor Snow, Barry's rock. She didn't know him at all. Not this version of him. 

Two people hadn't shunned him as a time remnant in 2024. The first was Iris—because she was dead, of course. The second was Caitlin. Because she was locked away as Killer Frost in the future, she didn't get any more chance than Iris did to reject him. But he remembered her trust as she became his partner in crime, Killer Frost and Savitar, young gods.

Looking at her now, he didn't know what to make of her. Still the basket-case brunette, still unable to look him full in the jacked-up face. He held no bitterness toward her because he didn't have true memories of her casting him aside in 2024 the way he did of the others. Really, any snide remarks he made toward her were probably because he got off on seeing any of them disgruntled by him. She was part of Team Flash, and Team Flash had been his enemies for so long, it was just routine to discomfort her. He was doing some calculations of his own, watching her. 

He knew what she was to Barry, what she probably still was deep within him, in that lonely part Barry had mentioned when he'd offered their help. But they wouldn't accept him as their green-eyed hero; she'd proven she was no different yesterday with her counting comment. A comment he'd been waiting for her to make. So he would withhold judgement for now. She was Caitlin Snow, someone to test and shake for kicks and giggles, but nothing deeper. He didn't _know_ her anymore, not as a friend—more like as an expert on a particular kind of animal. Barry's memories allowed Savitar to understand Caitlin as the original Flash did, clearing the path for the former God of Speed to push her buttons in just the right ways.

“That's a relief,” Savitar told her throatily. “I'm getting this... _massive_ headache. Probably got something to do with the joke Joe just tried to tell at Jitters.” He closed his eyes for a second, trying to mentally shake the images still pouring in. He opened them to peer at her. “Anything you could recommend, _Doctor_ Snow?”

Caitlin's weary expression grew wearier. Up all night and he was still patronizing her. But her eyebrows, when he mentioned Jitters, drew together. She was...sympathizing? Oh, he didn't need that. Not from any of them.

“Or maybe I'd better ask Cisco, I mean, cures aren't really your specialty, are they?” Savitar held out a palm, exactly as if he were apologizing for his slip-up. “Just ask Jay.” Caitlin stiffened.

Cisco stood up. “Oh, you remember stuff that's happened to all of us before now?” He pointed both fingers at the floor, at 'now', painting a befuddled look on his face as if this were news to him. “Man, I had no idea, please drop some more names!”

He shouldered past Savitar, heading for his worktable. He was retrieving the Cuff.

Savitar licked his lips again, turning his attention back to Caitlin. He did want answers. Fun was fun, and making them surly was definitely helping his own mood, but now it was time to get serious.

“So what is it?”

Caitlin reached for a few papers, stacking them against the desk to straighten them. “I...I got to thinking. It must be debilitating to keep reliving whatever's happening to Barry at any given moment. So I installed a cerebellum inhibitor of my own in the Hammond Cuff. Mixed with Cisco's frequency equalization, as long as you're wearing it, you shouldn't be getting any of Barry's new memories.”

Savitar's eyes followed Cisco now as he brought the Hammond Cuff to the desk for a final once-over. Caitlin was still watching him, he could tell in his peripherals. She could keep watching. He wasn't going to break into a dorky grin, wasn't going to give them a heartfelt _thank you, guys_. He knew it was what they _wanted_ to hear. But they didn't expect it. Because, of course, to them he was Savitar. Barry Allen would thank them later for their help. They didn't need more than him.

Even if the tiniest, still heaving part of him wanted them to look for it in him.

Cisco tapped a rhythm, a code, onto the Cuff, using a minuscule number pad that hadn't been there yesterday. Its opening widened with a noise akin to the unsheathing of a sword. Caitlin stood, back against the desk, to watch as Ramon slid the cuff onto Savitar's outstretched wrist.

It tightened immediately, almost as if it were part of his skin, gleaming bronze and cold to the touch. Instantly Savitar felt reenergized. The frequency his existence vibrated at was now coupled with a new one—the one belonging to the temporal zone. It was like someone was charging him up. His legs itched to run.

“Any new memories coming in?” Caitlin checked quietly. “Is...Iris finished eating?” It was as if she were quizzing him for a Spelling Bee.

Savitar let his eyelids flutter shut, casting back. His withered heart gave a little jolt as he realized there was nothing there. Unsure how to respond to this news, he opened his eyes and shook his head.

“How's it feeling?” Cisco demanded.

Savitar turned his wrist, mouth open, attention focused on the device. “Powerful.”

“Yeah, well, don't forget,” Cisco said, reaching for his soda in a failed attempt to hide the pride in his work, “we won't know if it's _actually_...a success...until your 24 hours are up.” He popped the straw in his mouth, holding out a hand for Caitlin to high five. Done with his sip, he added, “So don't take it off until tomorrow. If your arm—and—the rest of you's still, you know. _There_ tomorrow.”

Savitar hesitated just to sneer at Cisco, letting him know the comment was not appreciated, but that felt a little too close to banter for comfort, and he gave in to the need for speed. He tore out of the Cortex, feet pounding the ground as hard as they could carry him.


	4. They See You When You're Sleeping

“ _We won't give up on you, okay, that is not what we do. There is a way through this, for all of us._ ”

He was dreaming of Iris. Iris serving coffee at her old job, wearing that Jitters shirt that somehow looked better on her than it did on the other baristas, though they all wore the same one. Iris typing and typing at her computer late at night, keeping the world updated on the adventures of the Flash, wide awake at the thought of his latest success. Iris fanning away the smoke from the stove with a dishtowel at the apartment as her attempt at Thanksgiving turkey was foiled. Iris laughing, Iris flopping down on the couch, Iris paralyzed with indecision at the Frozens aisle in the grocery store.

Savitar had spent the remaining 24 hours before his deadline running through Central City, trying to beat away the nerves making his muscles throb. He was terrified of disappearing, he _hated_ the wait. All that running had taken its toll by the end of the day, and he'd collapsed in his room—cell—whatever, back at S.T.A.R. Labs. The Hammond Cuff was still cold and whirring around his wrist, and he held one arm underneath his chest as he fell asleep, trying to let the feel of it there calm him. He'd been so tired, he hadn't even changed clothes.

At first he was certain he wouldn't _be_ sleeping. It was pathetic. One minute he was the God of Speed, so far from being Barry Allen that Fastest Man Alive just didn't cover it anymore. Brimming with power. And then the next, he was afraid of the dark, in the home of the team that had shunned him in the first place.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, he had remembered Iris' words of comfort.

_There is a way through this. There is a way through this._

Of course, repeating your not-dead not-fiancee's last real spoken sentence to you in the middle of the night _would_ lead to pretty dreams.

Soon she'd be Iris West-Allen. But she wouldn't be his. _Unfair_ simply didn't do it justice.

When he woke up, everything hurt. His scars always hurt in the morning, but today they seemed particularly agitated. His jacket was hot and he considered shedding it—his suit had an inbuilt cooling system. He really missed that suit. His throat was sore; he was thirsty.

_Wait._

Savitar sat bolt upright in the bed. 

He was awake. It was morning. He was _thirsty_.

He flashed up the stairs, down the corridors, straight to the Cortex. He didn't know what made his least favorite room in the building the place he chose to stop—maybe he needed to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. Only the sight of other breathing individuals could convince him. Luckily, three such individuals were waiting for him there, and none of them were Iris West. Definitely not dreaming, then.

Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin met him in the Cortex. Cisco raised one fist halfway into the air.

“Look who survived the night, guys,” Ramon announced.

Barry was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Nice work, Cisco.”

“Thank you, Flash.” Cisco drew the three words out, making sure everyone heard them, giddy with pride. He glanced to his right. “Caitlin helped.”

“Caitlin helped,” Caitlin agreed sweetly, gingerly accepting a fist bump.

Savitar didn't join their reverie. It was as if 2024 was happening all over again. He flexed his fingers, inhaled as deeply as he could. He was alive. The paradox hadn't reached him.

Then, for the first time, a glimmer of gratitude tried to make an appearance, somewhere buried behind his eyes and below his chest. They had been true to their word. After everything he'd done, they saved him. The only reason he was standing here now, in this lab that, yes, still smelled like a burger joint and clean laundry, was because of the people trading triumphant grins two feet from him. 

He had never thought being thirsty would ever feel this good.

Savitar exhaled, letting it soak through him, eyes moving from the Hammond Cuff to Barry Allen. “...Thank you,” he murmured.

Barry nodded, just once. Ever the hero. “I told you we could do it.”

“And by _we_ , he totally means _us_.” Cisco jabbed a thumb between himself and Caitlin.

Savitar turned to repeat the phrase to the two scientists, a little reluctantly considering the smirk Cisco was wearing, but something stopped him. Just past Barry's shoulder, he saw the security feed on the monitor. The glimmer of gratitude died out and he lifted a finger to shake at the screen, slowly, as if his muscles hurt.

“You've been keeping tabs on me.”

The grins slipped away.

“Can you blame us?” Barry asked, before anyone could defend themselves. Cisco pointed at him, nodding.

Savitar nodded. “Yes,” he hissed, “I can.” His arm swung back to his side, no longer pointing. And even though the old bitterness was back, swirling in his stomach, he let his words clunk out, as if he couldn't really care either way. “You said you wanted to help me. But all the while you're just sitting up here babysitting, making sure I don't step out of line.”

Cisco scoffed as thickly as was humanly possible. “I'm sorry, I thought the total lack of a dude named _H.R._ around here would've been reason enough to keep an eye on you. And _you're welcome_ , by the way.”

Savitar opened his mouth to retort, but like always, Barry Allen was louder.

“Look, it's not that big of a deal, okay?” Barry's hands were in his pockets; he lifted a shoulder. “It's just an extra precaution. If we wanted to lock you up for real, we could've done that already. You've gotta start trusting us more.”

Savitar snorted. “Can you blame me?” That _thank you_ tasted like acid now.

Caitlin broke the short, tense silence that followed. “It's not just an extra precaution for _us_.” She turned her own monitor, and not just Savitar, but the other two men in the room swiveled to see it. 

Displayed on Caitlin's screen was a record of Savitar's current weight, mass, and general atom count. She had been tracking his actual existence, and the timer stuck at 0:00:00 told him it had been that way all night long. Savitar honed in on the timer, trying to process this information—Snow had taken it upon herself to actually read any warning signs that the Cuff might be failing, even as he slept. Had it malfunctioned, her indicators would've given them a chance at fixing the problem before the paradox hit.

Apparently this was news to her buddies.

Cisco's chair rolled nearer to the screen. “You're even tracking cells,” he realized, impressed.

“Is this what you've been putting together all week?” Barry demanded, fist against chin.

Caitlin nodded. “I thought it could come in handy.” Almost as if she were approaching wildlife, she turned ever so sightly to meet Savitar's gaze.

The corners of her mouth were further pressed than usual, even in smiling. Her hands were neatly, casually laid in her lap. Caitlin was feeling pretty good about herself, and her steady posture told him she was waiting for a reaction.

Savitar dipped his head to her, suddenly unable to look at her straight on. He refused to say _thank you_ again, fool him once. But to his surprise—a rare feeling—she mimicked his duck. It was such a familiar gesture between the two of them, it was as if part of his heart hadn't been beating since 2024, and she'd just given it a jumpstart. A thank-you without audio, across the room. Something Barry and Caitlin did often, something Savitar recalled doing with her but had never actually done. For a moment he wondered if he'd imagined it, it felt so good.

A jumpstart. He still _had_ a heartbeat. Suddenly faced with his new life, Savitar felt as if he were looking down a very dark tunnel with no guarantee there wasn't a dead end. 

He posed the question to Barry for the second time. “How's this gonna work?” He raised his eyebrows to Cisco, then Caitlin. “Should I get a job somewhere, carry my own weight? I won't exactly make sense over at the CCPD. Think of what the _chief_ would do if there were _two_ Allens to screw up.” Barry did not look amused, so Savitar dropped the examples and asked point-blank, “What am I supposed to do now?”

Barry waited a moment before responding. “Iris and I were talking about that last night,” he said, which did not make his doppelganger feel at all reassured. It just as if Mom and Dad had been discussing what on earth they were going to do with Junior. He turned to Cisco. “We need to find out if there's an Earth missing its own Barry Allen.”

 

 

Caitlin's earliest memory of a really scientific idea was a kind of portable copy machine. At eleven years old, she'd walked right up to the teacher at the end of class and told her all about this remote she'd imagined that could copy any one place, right down to the tiniest details. She'd fantasized replicating a whole aquarium, just so she could take her time reading each fish's description, no other kids on their field trips around to interrupt her. She could have copied a grocery store and eaten all her favorite things, she could've copied the perfect forever-home. 

That was how she saw the other Earths in the multiverse.They were copies, zapped by the remote her 5th grade self had dreamed up. But they were also coloring pages, in a way—they could all have the same outline, but the details, once colored by different pairs of hands, would make each picture independent of the others. The details on the other Earths were never the same as the ones on their own.

Barry was off on a mission, Kid Flash at his side. Nothing too dangerous; a robbery down at the jeweler's by the waterfront. Caitlin watched Cisco hooking his Vibe goggles up to the laptop, scanning and scanning the multiverses. She knew he was exhausted—one too many all-nighters for the sake of a former enemy—and her fondness for her friend grew even deeper, watching him put his all into doing the right thing, despite what he'd suffered for Savitar. Even sleep-deprived and grieving, Cisco was still one of the team's most prominent heroes.

Sometimes he would grace her with a commentary, as they sat there working.

“Ooh—nuh uh. This Barry's a cop, like an actual cop. In line for a promotion, that's dope.”

“Look at this one's hair, Caitlin!”

“Aw, got one married to Patty. Still a forensic scientist, though. Nice tux.”

“Heyyy, CEO of S.T.A.R. Labs, what! That's my boy!”

“No way. This Barry found a cure for Ebola. This essay is unbelievable, where did he come up with the tech for this stuff? Caitlin, read this.”

Caitlin did lean over a few times to study these different Barrys. They may be leading vastly contrasting lives, but the kind green eyes and helpful grin was always the same. She couldn't help smiling back, just a little, at a few of the happy little photos. After about an hour of research without any luck, Iris, Wally, and Joe had joined them, bringing tidings of great java from Jitters. Caitlin noticed that there was more than one Mocha Flash in the bunch, not anyone's usual, and a pang of homesickness for H.R. stabbed her again.

“This is way too many Barry Allens,” Joe finally announced, following another 45 minutes of searching. They all made noises of assent, but no one tore away from the monitors.

“Can you look up other Wallys with this thing?” Wally demanded, grinning. “Or...Joes? Or Jesses?”

Cisco glanced at him dubiously out of the tops of his eyes. “Down, boy.”

“You know what I'm realizing?” Iris said, dabbing the coffee from her upper lip with a napkin, beaming at the screen. “All of these different versions of him—I mean, they might not be the _Flash_ , but...they've all dedicated their lives to doing good. To helping people somehow.”

The warmth Caitlin felt there, surrounded by her friends, laughing and talking over various interpretations of their favorite speedster, grew at Iris' words. She offered the other woman a small shrug. “That's what he does.”

“Hold up.” Cisco interrupted them, rubbing his yes. “Look at this.” He pointed to the screen, underlining sentences as he read aloud. “Earth-66. This is a news article from March 14th, 1989.”

Joe squinted, peering over Cisco's shoulder. “' _Nora Allen dies in childbirth'_...”

“Oh my god,” Iris murmured behind a hand, staring at the words as if she were reading a different language.

Caitlin hadn't known Barry's mother, but she could tell from Joe and Iris' expressions that what they were looking at was shaking them. She knew the feeling. Even if you were completely aware that what happened on another Earth was a separate event from your own, it still felt personal. Like watching Zoom stab Killer Frost with her own ice dagger. Caitlin had nightmares regularly of meeting the same fate.

“Henry tried to save her,” Joe was summarizing in a hushed tone. He shadowed his eyes with a hand, though the light in the room and from the screen was set for optimal reading conditions.

“' _Beloved local doctor Henry Allen lost a promising family future in last night's tragic accident,_ '” Iris read. “ _At approximately 10:55 PM, Nora Allen began to show signs of_...'” She scanned the rest silently, and Caitlin wondered if she were imagining being in that room with Barry's distraught father and dying mother. “He couldn't save Barry either.”

Caitlin felt her stomach flip over. They had found what they'd been looking for. It was an ugly result, but they had found it. She scrolled the article down with a finger, almost illogically afraid to touch the screen, as if she were touching the alternate Henry's memories, soiling them. “According to this, this Earth's Barry was stillborn.”

Wally exhaled with his mouth in an _O_ , folding his arms behind his head. “That's it, right? This is the Earth where we dump Savitar?” He sounded fragile, like glass, gazing at the photo of Nora Allen's grave. Iris gave him a cutting look; no doubt she figured he was being insensitive. 

“That's sweet, Wally.” Savitar had joined them. “Don't tell me you're not gonna miss me?”

Caitlin let the others turn to stare first this time. When she did look back at the time remnant, he was fixed on the screen the way they had all been. The difference was that he didn't seem to mind what he was seeing. His face was completely neutral. 

Wally was leaning slightly away from the former speed god, right hand gripping the next until his knuckles turned white. It was the only thing that could betray the way his heart must have been slamming against his chest. Caitlin bit the inside of her cheek, giving him a doctor's once-over. She knew from treating Wally's post-battle wounds, from quiet confidence in the early morning hours when he came to exercise his broken, superhuman-healing leg, that Wally was suffering from slight trauma where Savitar was concerned. Being injured by a man with the countenance of his mentor, his big brother, being tricked and trapped in the Speed Force by a face he should've been able to trust, was not something a 22-year-old could just walk off.

“Earth-66, Hot Pocket,” Cisco greeted Savitar passively. “Home sweet home.”

 

 

It was cold in the pipeline that evening as Caitlin made her rounds through the metahuman prison, serving each their preferred supper. She was even considering donning a jacket if the Cortex turned out to be this chilly. When she had been Killer Frost, she had hardly felt the cold, but Caitlin Snow welcomed the discomfort. It meant she was still in control, still herself.

Heading back upstairs with her cart of Big Belly Burger wrappers and empty takeout boxes, Caitlin was surprised when she turned a corner and nearly rammed the cart into a strolling Savitar.

Savitar's hands moved at a blur, stilling the other end of the cart before it could collide with him. He gave her an impatient look, very similar to the one her father used to give when she interrupted him while he was on the phone.

“What are you doing down here?” Caitlin tried to be polite, tried to keep the suspicion from her voice. It didn't work. Satisfyingly enough, she found she didn't care.

“Releasing all your metahuman prisoners and taking over your base,” Savitar replied casually, words crystallized with sarcasm. “ _Vive la resistance_.” 

He tilted his head at her, almost smiling. It would not have been a friendly, teasing smile. His hunched shoulders and tightened grip on the cart announced constant anger.

Caitlin didn't feel like repeating her question. She just stood there, holding the cart, practicing standing her ground against that marred face. When Barry got this way, agitated with her for intoning that he shouldn't take so many risks out on the field, it was best to remain silent because she knew he got the message, he just needed quiet to let its logic sink in. Too much quiet made Barry Allen feel guilty; he almost always followed up any sarcasm or exasperation with apologetic explanations.

She was more than a little stunned when Savitar responded the same way. 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don't need to _run_ every time I want a change of scenery,” he told her defensively, straightening. “I took a walk. Considering there's over forty security cameras hidden inside the rafters down here, I figured that would be okay with my babysitters upstairs.”

Well, almost the same way. Barry didn't explain with so much mouth.

“I guess I was wrong.” Savitar conceded, tone clearly conveying that he felt he should've expected her disapproval, and had started walking back toward the exit. “If you need me, I'll be in my nursery.”

Caitlin watched him leave, watched Barry's left shoulder swing a little more than the right as the speedster strolled away, listened to him favoring his right leg. Everything about him physically was recognizable. She wondered if he knew at all how similar he still was to the man whose life he'd tried so hard to ruin. She wondered if it would make him even angrier to find out...or if he did know, and wanted someone to see it without curling their lip. She had felt the same way for a while when Cisco and Barry had returned from Earth-2, afraid she'd become Killer Frost at every angle. Couldn't they just see her? She was Caitlin, their Caitlin. 

For a moment, remembering that directionless wave that had washed over her when her friends looked at her, too nervous to notice her hair wasn't white and her lips weren't blue, Caitlin understood Savitar. Just for a second. Watching him turn the corner, out of sight, he didn't look quite so frightening in that heartbeat. He looked like Barry—and if there was one thing Caitlin knew, it was that Barry was not to feel alone if she was in the building. It was terrible for his health.

She left the cart where it was and hurried in her closed-toe doctor's shoes—much better for running than heels—around the corner, catching up to him in the most dignified way possible. It was only slightly humiliating that even when he was walking, both Barry and Savitar were much faster than she was, super speed or not.

“Is the cerebellum inhibitor giving you any trouble?” When she didn't know what to say, science always had her back.

Savitar did not turn around and did not slow his pace. For all she knew, he had been aware she was behind him from the moment she left the cart. “Nope. Works great.” 

Clipped words said, _don't talk to me, mortal_. Caitlin had lived with Harry for a year or so. It didn't faze her.

“Listen,” Caitlin began, trying to pretend it was just Barry, she was talking to Barry, and Barry was always ready to listen to her when he was down. “I know it's not easy, coming back here after everything that's happened.” _Even if, admittedly, the majority of it is your own fault._ “Living on a different Earth isn't the ideal solution, but...it _is_ the best option. Anything else would involve way too many hurdles to jump—for you, and for the rest of us.”

Savitar stopped walking, and she ran into his back. He turned around and she narrowly avoided collision with his black-clad shoulder, too. “What do you want?” he demanded, syllables drenched in irritation.

Caitlin sized him up. She couldn't see much Barry in him anymore, suddenly. Cold settled in her chest—her fallback feeling when something was not going the way it was supposed to. Like this conversation. She was so accustomed to Barry responding with equal heat, reaching for her hand to help him back to his feet. Standing there while his face and his body bore down on her—with very little enthusiasm—was not exactly proof of things functioning properly.

Finally she clicked out, “I just—wanted to see if there was anything I—”

Savitar's scoff was wet and antagonized. He rolled his eyes, his neck, his whole head. He held up the arm wearing the Hammond Cuff. “You're gonna weld this thing to my wrist, throw me in some cheap copy of Central City, and close the breach to make sure I stay put.” He raised his eyebrows. “But I guess that kind of fits, I mean, I'm still just a _disposable_ Barry Allen, right?” He put up a palm and walked backward, away from her. “Sorry— _not_ Barry Allen. Toss the duplicate Flash into a duplicate world. All your problems are solved. So no, there's nothing you can do, Doctor Snow.”

Caitlin's own eyebrows puckered to combat his elevated ones. “We are trying to give you a life. Which is more than you deserve.”

It was the standard masculine habit. The angrier he got, the closer he seemed to get physically to the person he was angry with, as if he had to prove he was wider and taller than his opponent. That he could breathe faster. One minute he had been eager to make her rush to keep up with his strides, the next he was inches from her face, and she could see the scars winding above his left eyebrow and giving up on his forehead.

“I didn't _deserve_ to be thrown away from the beginning.”

Caitlin didn't break her gaze. _Thrown away_. She knew what Barry had told them, she knew that the future Team Flash hadn't wanted the last time remnant. She knew what Savitar believed of them, but she couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. It just wasn't them. Wasn't the present team proving that? That they were willing to help him? And _this_ Team Flash was dealing with a remnant that had killed their friend and tried to destroy them all. There was just no future in which she could see herself and her family here turning their back on anyone, and certainly not someone who was at least half of Barry Allen.

“We saved your life,” Caitlin reminded him icily, and he leaned his head back, exasperated. She went on, determined to make him see that they were no longer against him. “We could have stopped there, but instead we're working together, _for_ you, figuring out how to give you the best chance possible.” She let the ice drop out of her voice, trying to find even a spark of her best friend in that single green iris. “Don't you want that chance?”

Savitar slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, silent. He seemed to be lost in thought, eyes on her but not focusing. Like he was searching for something, weighing everything.

Then she saw it. The way his mouth twitched. He pulled a hand free to run it through his hair. It was Barry again, giving in. It made her shoulders relax, suddenly all the tension in her body was gone, because she no longer felt she was standing in front of a stranger blocking out her words. He really was someone she knew, so far beneath the rugged, stinging surface, afraid to access that version. But he was tapping into it now, and it looked good on him.

“Okay,” he whispered, looking at the far wall, nodding over and over to himself. He said it again, a little more feeling in the word. “Okay.” He let out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bravado was gone. “Say it works,” he conceded, more loudly this time. “It works, I go through. What kind of life am I supposed to have? When I can do _this_ —” 

He lifted a hand to her, vibrating it so that it was blurred and sputtering. Caitlin eyed it, knowing the damage it could do.

“How does my speed,” Savitar continued, “apply to _that_ Earth? Am I supposed to be the Flash again?” The way he said the name, Caitlin would have thought donning the red and yellow was impossible for him.

Caitlin bit her lip. “We'll figure it out.”

“Will we?” Savitar grunted.

Caitlin nodded hard, firmly. “Together. We'll be behind you, we will make _sure_ that you're in good hands before we close the breach.”

He shook his head, wagging it back and forth, back and forth, slowly, deliberately. “How?”

Caitlin opened her mouth to respond, but the answer just didn't come. They couldn't pull the right life for him out of thin air. _Would_ he be the Flash? Would he find the right job, the right home, have friends? How was he going to explain his scars, his eye, his general disgust with the world around him? Worst of all, would he do the right thing? Left alone to his devices, would he become just another Zoom, terrorizing another Earth? He might not return to heroism. He might just fall back into being the villain of the story. Barry Allen could be both, he was proof of it. Without people that loved him, this was what he became. Savitar didn't have the luxury of growing up on Earth-66; he'd be dropped into it, physically 27, without knowing a soul that could steer him in the right direction. They didn't even have an assurance that he would gravitate toward the light, once they didn't all live in the same place. 

Suddenly, she remembered something she'd said to Barry, her Barry, when he had lost his father. “ _When this happened to me, you were the one who kept me in check_.” 

_Kept me in check._

That was what they had always been to one another, a shoulder, a push in the right direction, someone who understood, perfectly safe if they had each other.

That was what Savitar needed.

In a split second, she was reminded of Cisco, glued to his monitor, doing the right thing no matter what it cost him.

Caitlin felt the words rush out of her the moment it hit her. “I'll go with you.”


	5. Off We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin prepares to leave Earth-1 and join Savitar in his new home, for the greater good.

Doctor Caitlin Snow was the most organized, prepared individual you could ever meet. Her apartment never ran out of toilet paper. Her papers were always in order. Her phone was always charged, her physician tools were always on the same table when she came in for work. She was prepared for Cisco's whine when she snuck a fry out of his lunch on her way past his desk. She was prepared when Jitters wasn't able to give her her first choice on the menu, backup drink already on the tip of her tongue. She was prepared when Wally needed help in his science courses. She was prepared with the perfect excuse, the best shut-down facial expressions, when H.R. had danced into the room, trying to get her to sing the next verse in whatever random Earth-1 song had taken his fancy. She was prepared when Ronnie needed to cool down after a long day of engineering. She was prepared to face the worst when a metahuman broke out of the pipeline.

She was not prepared for Barry Allen.

Ever, she was never prepared for Barry Allen. She hadn't been prepared when Dr. Wells rolled in an unconscious, complete stranger on her examination table, someone who had allegedly been struck by lightning. She hadn't been prepared when said stranger had exploded out of said coma, looking at her with his sharp green eyes and heaving for breath. She hadn't been prepared when he insisted she play Operation with him for _mental exercise_ , and doubly unprepared when he lost on purpose and an actual laugh came bubbling out of her at his expression. She hadn't been prepared when he called her Cait, the first time anyone had called her Cait since Ronnie had died and the first and only person she would ever allow it from every day after. She hadn't been prepared when he offered to join her in the pipeline, hadn't been prepared when he'd taken on Captain Cold and Heat Wave to buy her time, when he'd sang at a karaoke bar with her, when he'd challenged Grodd to save her life, when he'd talked her out of Killer Frost's head by proving he knew exactly who she was, when he smiled at her and stood beside her and hugged her and showed her that yes, superheroes still existed. Even after Ronnie, even after Jay, there was happiness and hope and love and he was _her_ hero, her own personal safe place. She got to have him around every day. Not prepared, not prepared, not prepared.

And she was especially unprepared for his reaction.

The color drained from Barry's face when she told him her plan. She hadn't seen him this pale since The Mist. His eyebrows drew together so tightly, eyes squinting so intensely, that she wondered how he could see properly that way. His mouth opened and formed words that wouldn't come out, he was shifting his weight very quickly from leg to leg as he stood in front of her. It was strange, as if he were trapped underground and someone had just taken his only light source, and he was trying not to panic at the thought of taking another step without it.

“Cait,” he finally managed, and she felt the world's colors saturate at the nickname as usual, “no.”

“Barry, it's the—” 

She wasn't prepared to be interrupted, either, but Barry seemed to have been derailed by her news.

“You can't. You can't go with him, there's no way.”

They were at his lab at the CCPD; he'd been doing some last-minute filing and Caitlin couldn't think of a better time to tell him. It was raining outside, and she spied a red mug of black coffee on the desk, steaming in the faint light. The papers Barry had been holding were now abandoned on his chair; he was staring down at her as if she were several feet away behind a baseball field net, hard to see.

Caitlin had expected her friend to be surprised, yes, but not _this_ surprised, and not this upset. If anything, she had expected him to realize that this was the right thing to do—a heroic thing to do—and to help her in whatever ways he could. That was as Barry as you could get. But instead she was in a lab with a man who looked like she'd sucker punched the oxygen right out of him.

“It's the smartest route,” she explained, leaning back a little, confused by the sudden fear just rippling off of him. “He needs someone to put him on the right track, Barry. Who better to do that than a doctor? Than one of us?” She hesitated, trying to think of the clearest way to communicate what she meant. “He may be—damaged—but you said it yourself. Underneath all that anger and all those mistakes, part of _you_ is in there. I've seen it. And he needs someone who knows that part of him to _guide_ him. Logically it's the safest thing for him. For Earth-66, for everyone.”

But Barry was rubbing the heels of his hands into closed eyes before she'd finished, mouth open to reveal teeth that were clenched, but not too violently, not too dramatically. Caitlin was an expert in reading body language, especially Barry's. He _was_ her main patient. And right now, he was very stressed out. It didn't compute.

Barry looked up at her suddenly, palms pressed together and pointed at her. “But I don't—I don't get it, all right?” He stepped closer, the picture of concern. He spoke more slowly, as if trying to calm himself long enough to get his point across. “It's dangerous. It's not smart, it's not even...” He sighed, starting again. “I know that not all Earths have guys like Zoom, or Reverb, but you'd still be going in blind. You don't know what could actually be there—what if it's something like Grodd, and I'm not there to—and even if Earth-66 is missing all of those things, we can't risk sending you in with Savitar. Okay?” Another sigh, shorter, and the words got even slower. “You've seen what he can do, you can't—I mean, if he decides to go off the rails, you're not gonna have any of us there to help you stop him.”

Caitlin brightened, she'd been coming to that last bit. “Well, I was thinking there would be a way I could have a connection back to—”

“Cait.” 

Interrupted _again_?

Barry pinched the bridge of his nose, a mirror of Savitar just an hour earlier in the pipeline. He looked...sad? He looked hurt and fragile, like the day she'd revealed her metahuman powers and he'd stared into her, and she knew he was wondering why he hadn't told him sooner. “What is it? Over there, on _that_ Earth? What's there that you don't already have right here with you?”

And _then_ she understood him.

Caitlin's countenance stuttered, and she burst out, “Barry, do you—you don't think I'm going to _live_ there, do you?”

Barry's sad and hurt were being coated with a thin layer of confusion now. “What?”

She made a few still-befuddled noises before actual sentences took form. “I only meant I'd help him settle _in_. You couldn't possibly think I'd want to stay on another Earth? A completely different _world_? With the man who murdered H.R.?”

Barry's eyebrows shot to his hairline. His eyes seemed to overflow with warmth now, and his entire body relaxed. Finally he collapsed into, “Oh thank god.”

“Barry!” Caitlin let out a relieved, nervous chortle at that, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder as he doubled over, cupping both hands over his face. He was chuckling too. “Don't be ridiculous. _This_ Earth is my home. I mean, at the most, I was only planning on staying for a couple of weeks. And I'm not even sure if weeks, plural, is such a good idea.” His head came up to grin at her and she rolled her eyes. “Remember, this is Savitar we're discussing.”

“I'm sorry.” Barry's grin stayed, but he straightened and added seriously, “You can't go until we figure out how to contact you from here.”

“I was trying to lead up to that,” Caitlin insisted, reaching for his mug. The warm porcelain felt wonderful against her always-cold palms. “See, I think that if Cisco and I could design a communicator—something independent of the walls between universes—I could remain in contact with all of you, and we could _all_ figure out a way to keep Savitar in check.” She smiled triumphantly. It was always satisfying to work out an idea aloud, knowing it had the capacity to succeed. “I would just be there as a warm body.”

Barry's hands were on his hips, he was nodding, looking at the ground as if picturing her plan. “That might work. And, to be honest...” His eyes met hers eagerly. “I can't think of anyone better to keep my _evil doppelganger_ on the straight and narrow.”

Caitlin was never good at accepting compliments, and Barry's made her own eyes bounce to the floor. “I suppose you would know.”

“Cait.”

“Mm?” She glanced up expectantly, all ears.

Barry nodded to her hands. “You do know that's mine.”

Caitlin's gaze went to her reflection in his coffee. Oh, did this bother him? She blinked at him innocently from the top of her eyes. “It's cold and wet out.”

He was trying not to smile. “I haven't even touched it!”

“I haven't had coffee since 3 AM this morning.”

“But it's mine.”

“I'm freezing,” Caitlin complained, giving him her best pleading look. “Because of your increased muscle exercise since becoming the Flash, your body is constantly generating the exact amount of heat it needs to be comfortable, despite any temperature fluxes outside.”

“Caitlin.”

“And that includes fall thunderstorms!”

“Doctor Snow, I want my coffee.”

She pointed at him sternly. “ _My_ metahuman properties produce the antithesis, therefore I need twice the amount of heat, twice the clothing, and twice the coffee.” With that, Caitlin took a lengthy sip, watching the Flash without wavering. She licked her lips when she'd finished, setting the mug down.

Barry shook his head at her, unable to keep from grinning again. “Unbelievable.”

Caitlin grinned back. She was never happier, safer, or more content in general than when she was with Barry Allen. From cocky stranger in and out of her workplace to her best friend—besides Cisco, of course. She couldn't have sipped from just anyone's coffee. 

Barry went to stand beside her, leaning against the desk the way she was, the mug between them. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he said, a little more seriously, “Just make sure you come back to us in one piece, okay?” 

Caitlin nodded. No words necessary.

Barry wasn't finished, eyes tracing her smile. “I need you, Cait. I need you here. Okay? Promise me you're coming back home.”

There are few things in this world that feel better than being told you are needed. That without you, someone's life would not be quite the way they wanted it to be. No one could hear such a thing and feel negative toward it, it was just something you longed for. Caitlin was no exception, and hearing it from Barry cemented it in her mind.

“I promise.”

Barry gave her one of those bear hugs only he could give. Caitlin had discovered earlier in life that Henry Allen could hug almost the same way, but that Barry's were tighter. Barry Allen seemed reluctant to let go of the people close enough to hug, reluctant to let go of anyone he loved. He wouldn't be the same person without them—and they had seen that in the flesh, flesh currently residing in the basement of S.T.A.R. Labs with a frequency equalizer strapped to his wrist. That was why she had to go, just for a short, short time. She had to help Savitar, remind him that he did not have to be alone, that he could be what he'd been so long ago.

As they broke apart, Barry poked the silence by saying, “Okay but that is my coffee.”

“Oh, this coffee?”

“For real right now?”

 

 

The rest of Team Flash was not quite as easy to convince. Maybe it was because none of them were Barry, so they didn't see that Caitlin was the perfect person to lead Savitar into his new life. Maybe it was because none of them were Caitlin, who had seen a glimmer of the person Savitar could still be and was determined to give him the chance to choose what was right. Or maybe it was just because Savitar was looking particularly smug and brooding as they gathered in the S.T.A.R. Labs basement two days later, preparing to send him off.

Caitlin had waited until just before they were ready to open the breach. When she announced that she would be going with the God of Speed, Joe was the first to respond, albeit after a stunned silence.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

So Caitlin had launched into her explanation, the same one she'd given Barry, who was by her side through the entire lecture, carrying her two enormous duffel bags. The team had all let her say her piece, of course, but the moment she was finished, the protests and questions shot toward her like bullets.

“Where are you gonna stay?” Joe demanded, pointing from Caitlin to Savitar with a father's warning tone. “With him?”

Caitlin took a deep breath. “Barry and I looked into it yesterday, and...we found out that there's a S.T.A.R. Labs on Earth-66 too.”

“So, what, you're just gonna crash with your doppelganger for a couple weeks? Braid each other's hair, swap science theories?” Cisco scoffed. He was looking thoroughly uncomfortable with the news. “'So where you from, other Caitlin?' 'Oh, Earth-1, they got great burgers, you'd love it!' I bet that's gonna be a real fun conversation to have.”

“Actually, Cisco,” Caitlin cleared her throat, eyes on her shoes. “Earth-66 Caitlin Snow is dead too.”

“Convenient,” Savitar interrupted, voice higher than usual. He didn't seem swayed by the information.

“It is,” Caitlin agreed, trying to remain patient. “Everyone employed at S.T.A.R. Labs on that world has been dead for the last four years.” She glanced at Cisco. “Ever since—”

“Their particle accelerator exploded,” Cisco finished, closing his eyes for a moment. “Which means there's no Cisco Ramon either. Or Ronnie. Or Wells.”

“Or an Iris West,” Caitlin added, carefully studying their Iris.

When Joe opened his mouth, stepping forward, Barry stopped him from asking by recounting, “She was a cop. Just like Earth-2's Iris West. She was stationed as security the night the accelerator failed.”

“So,” Wally interjected, “you're saying this Earth is basically a dump?”

“For real,” Cisco agreed. His right hand clung to his Vibe goggles, careful not to smudge the glass. He held up a finger on the other for each absent party as he rattled off: “No Barry, no Cisco, no Caitlin or Iris...”

“Is there a Wally?”

“ _Down_ , boy.”

“So that's it?” Joe's hands rested on his belt. “We're just gonna let you hop into another Earth without any backup?”

Cisco cleared his throat _very_ loudly. “You seriously think I'm gonna send homegirl to another universe without an multidimensional walkie talkie?”

Caitlin pursed her lips as the group's eyes turned on her. She fished into her lab coat pocket, pulling out and showing off Cisco's communication device. It looked like a regular walkie talkie—except, of course, for the lightning bolt signature.

“You should be able to reach me at any time, for any reason, with this.” Caitlin smiled at her partner. “Cisco was done with it in an hour.”

Cisco smiled back, but it looked a little forced.

Iris' arms were folded. She was looking at Savitar, who was point-blank staring at the far wall. “I guess what I'm wondering is—why Caitlin?”

Caitlin exchanged a glance with Barry. But before either of them could say anything, Savitar declared bluntly from the corner, “Because she offered.”

They all glowered at him, clearly not finished with their interrogation. But he hiked up his own back over one shoulder and approached the center of the room, indifferent to the many pairs of eyes following him with undisguised mistrust.

“I don't know about all of you, but I'm getting kinda hungry. And since we have to go through the breach _before_ I get to eat, can we just speed this thing up a little? Team _Flash_?”

Cisco scowled at him. “Oh. Of course. Yeah, man, lemme just do that—oh, wait.” He pulled his goggles over his head, letting them hang around his neck. “I just remembered there's a lifelong friend I could potentially never see again should something go wrong in our little world-hopping endeavor! I'll be a minute, do you mind?”

Cisco took his time approaching Caitlin, passing Savitar with deliberately raised eyebrows. When he reached her, his animosity evaporated, and he wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was afraid her ribcage might be bruised. 

“If you don't come back, I get your lab, okay?” He said into her hair.

Caitlin laughed. “If I don't come back, I want you to find my body and _bury_ me in that lab, Cisco.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Joe's hug lifted her off her feet. When he set her down, he lowered his voice, running through a list of defensive maneuvers and strategies should Savitar go rogue. “If anything— _anything_ goes wrong over there, you call us. You got it?”

“Roger.” Caitlin bit her lip. “Sorry. Do the police still stay that? Affirmative.Ten-four. Good to go.” She even offered a ginger salute. Joe was chuckling before she had paused for breath.

Wally's smile was wide. His hug didn't quite lift her off the ground, but he squeezed the way his big brother did. “Don't stay away too long. Who's gonna nag me to do my exercises?”

Caitlin patted his shoulder, just once. “I'll get Cisco on it. Besides, your leg is almost fully healed. You've been patient.”

The future Mrs. West-Allen smelled like chocolate and throw pillows. “We're gonna miss you. Don't forget about us, Caitlin.” Iris only had two real requests. “Take lots of pictures. You never know, their city might be nicer than this one.” She glanced over her shoulder at the man in black, his back to her. “And take care of him.” 

Caitlin nodded, following Iris' gaze. She got the feeling Iris could see a little more than just a broken copy, too. _Take care of him._ At last, a pulse of fear gave her a slight headache. Who would take care of _her_?

Of course, Barry couldn't let her go without one more tight embrace. His was longest out of everyone's, and in those three minutes he held her, Caitlin had her answer, and the worry drained out of her. How could she be afraid? She still had her own personal superhero.

“I'm right here, okay?” Barry murmured in her ear. He was practically crushing her lungs. “You're not in this alone. We're all here for you, one call away.” He held up the walkie talkie to match hers, finally pulling out. His other hand squeezed left one. “Don't forget your promise, Doctor Snow.”

“I'll be home before you know it, Mr. Allen.”

As Barry moved to give Cisco room to open a breach, Caitlin saw Savitar watching her out of the corner of her eye. She held her head high, trying to remain composed. It wouldn't be forever. It was just a few weeks. Already she was missing them, missing the heat they provided, and they were still all in the same room with her.

A blinding blue light filled the basement, and a whirl of clouds and energy opened from thin air. Cisco's goggles were on, his brow beaded with sweat.

“Savitar,” Barry called suddenly.

Savitar turned gingerly, as if moving too quickly hurt. “Flash.”

Barry's expression was a new kind of knowing, something deep Caitlin had never seen on him before and couldn't identify. She got the feeling Savitar would understand exactly what it was, though. “Don't screw it up.”

Inspirational speeches were something Barry seemed to have perfected over time, so _don't screw it up_ was not what Caitlin had been expecting. But it fit. He was still always surprising her.

Savitar did not lash out with some sarcastic retort. He didn't make any condescending faces. Instead, he nodded, once, and entered the portal.

For a moment, Caitlin didn't know if she could do it. She almost convinced herself she couldn't, in those two steps toward the light. How could she leave them? Even for a few weeks? Even for a few hours? They were all she had.

A look over her shoulder calmed her. Barry was looking back, and he lifted a hand to her.

Caitlin raised her own right hand, waving back, trying to remain composed before the jump.

She stepped through, and everything went white.


	6. Out Of Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Savitar and Caitlin's first day on Earth-66.

Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs was completely abandoned.

It had all the tech. It had all the space. It even had a few new rooms. What it was missing was people. Caitlin walked through the glass double doors, instantly thinking that this must be what it felt like when people swore their houses were haunted. She could've been a ghost herself. Leaves were strewn everywhere; cobwebs stretched across the welcome center's main desk, the rafters, the monitors. And the corridors leading to the Cortex were no better. The entire building smelled acrid, as if someone had dunked a rag in gasoline and wiped down every surface. Outside, they had noticed that unlike on their Earth, where just one of the towers was charred and dysfunctional, Earth-66's version omitted all three, only blackened stumps in their places.

Savitar hadn't said much to her since they arrived. Caitlin had laid out the plan for him in her typical all-business fashion: Get to S.T.A.R. Labs, settle in, and figure out the details of his new home—whether there was a fitting job for him close to the Labs, maybe a way to disguise his scars in order to avoid questions, and most importantly, whether this world needed the Flash.

Savitar did not seem concerned with any of it. He barely made a single comment; she couldn't tell whether he agreed with her ideas or not. Instead, the moment they entered the musty Cortex, he dropped his bag right on the floor, sped away and returned a second later with a bag of fried food. It was nice to see he hadn't just been antagonistic back on Earth-1; he really meant it when he said he was hungry.

When Caitlin gave him a look that told him with pinched eyebrows and pursed lips that the sight was surreal, Savitar said, as though _she_ were the weird one, “I eat,” and began unwrapping his burger.

Caitlin watched him chewing at hyper speed, and the first thought that came to her mind popped out of her mouth without her consent. “Did you... _pay_...for that?”

Savitar sat down in one of the chairs by the desk, propping his feet up. “Would you believe me if I said I did?”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows, showing her palms. “Just asking.”

There was only the sound of rustling paper as Savitar finished off his lunch in the space of two minutes. Caitlin walked around the Cortex, switching the emergency lights on and running a finger over her old examination table, making a face at the dust it collected.

“Everything seems to be in working condition,” she announced after a few more minutes of turning things on and plugging things in. “The particle accelerator explosion released a wave that was toxic to human life within the machine's surrounding area, but the pipeline where it actually took place is the only part of the building that's really damaged. All of this—the cobwebs, the rust—it's just due to neglect, inactivity. One of the monitors where the suit should be is cracked. And more than one lightbulb needs changing...”

Savitar crossed his arms. “So, what? Should I grab a mop?”

Caitlin glanced over at him, curls swinging, distractedly saying as she waited for her usual screen to boot up, “If you want. There's bound to be some kind of health violation—” and then she remembered who she was talking to. Savitar was looking at her with the expression Barry used when she babbled on about the technical flaws in the punchline of a joke. It was an expression that said, _stop embarassing yourself_. “Oh. You were being sarcastic, weren't you?”

Savitar stood, and instead of answering her he clapped his hands together. “Not that this isn't a very exciting step in our little journey,” he said, sighing, “but all that food gave me the urge to go for a nice run. When you come up with something relevant for me to do with the rest of my existence, you let me know. I'm not going anywhere.” He headed for the entryway. “Nowhere far, anyway.”

“Wait, you need—”

_FSHHH!_

And he was gone. Spitting the hair out of her mouth in his wake, Caitlin huffed. “Comms,” she finished dejectedly, staring at the exit after him.

With nothing left to do, she started cleaning.

 

 

Wind rushed past Savitar's face. The Speed Force churned and flashed behind his vision. Earth-66 became a blob around him, and he closed his eyes as he ran, sensing objects around him, avoiding collision with anything or anyone. No one could see him. Nothing could touch him. He was too fast. This Earth's air was sweeter than Earth-1's, but the smells and the colors were the same.

Not a full month ago, he had wanted to be a god. He was _determined_ to be a god. _Gods feel no pain._ He wouldn't have to suffer through the memories of everyone he loved—everyone Barry Allen loved—rejecting him. Not if he was ruler of time. Not if he was a god.

But they had proved him wrong. Not 2024's Team Flash, no, _they_ had still abandoned him. The present's Team Flash. The one that had saved him. He looked down at the Hammond Cuff as he ran, knowing exactly where Ramon's lightning bolt signature was carved against his wrist.

He had wanted to be a god, to be worshipped, so that he wasn't alone. Because they had _made_ him alone. Broken. Joe, Wally, Cisco, Barry Allen.

But now they had flipped everything he'd believed on its head. He had tried to wreck them all, make them feel what he had felt for an eternity at their hands. And in spite of what he'd done, they had helped him? Didn't that make him wrong? Wasn't he wrong? Because by saving him, they proved that they were not going to forget him, the way their future selves had. They proved he wasn't alone, not exactly. 

So he didn't need to become a god.

Barry Allen, the original, had told him, “You can have all that again.” 

Friends, a family. 

He could have it all again if he was willing. And he wanted it, he _wanted_ it. The part of him, the remnant part, the part that lingered, before the rejection. The part that was still trying to be Barry. It was aching and screaming for the life he remembered. That was why he had agreed to come to Earth-66. That was why he couldn't speak when Barry had told him not to screw it up. There was nothing he could say. He couldn't make any promises, because he didn't know what he was supposed to be now. But he wanted to try something, anything.

The bitterness was not gone. It saturated his tone and the way he moved, he couldn't get it out of his bloodstream. Not yet. Still recalled every detail of the day they had shunned him. He couldn't forget it.

But the pain didn't have to last. And here, in another world, he didn't have to see them every day. He didn't have to see Iris with _him_ , with the original. He didn't have to see Cisco, Wally, Joe. He was free of reminders. He was supposed to be starting over.

Anger stabbed him. Starting over. Here? They wanted him to do...what next? Become the Flash, fight a few metas, try being a forensic scientist again? With the face he wore, the scars inside and out? It wasn't that easy.

That was probably why Snow had volunteered to join him. Help him _settle_. He knew her, he knew her so well—the doctor, the healer, she wanted to fix everything. She thought he could be Barry Allen, she thought he was just like Barry Allen. She thought it was closer to his surface than it was.

She was wrong.

She didn't know him. She wanted Barry—wanted him to _be_ Barry. Not enough to treat him with equal familiarity, not even enough to treat him with the respect she gave the original. To her, he was surely just the copy of a salve she was desperately fond of, but someone had botched the recipe. Head high, hands steady, she took it upon her professional self to study his ingredients, trash his flawed formula and start him from scratch.

The things he had seen, the things he had _been_...you couldn't simply reverse that. Doctor Snow would be in for a surprise. 

His thoughts were interrupted as a sudden wave of high temperature claimed the area he was speeding by.

_BOOM!_

A deafening explosion.

Savitar leapt through the air, momentum carrying him at least twenty yards farther than it should have. He was avoiding a splash of fire lashing out in his direction.

He stared, transfixed, as an entire skyscraper became engulfed in flames.

 

Caitlin was wiping off the demonstration board when Savitar returned. When she'd begun, she was stunned to see that they were an exact replica of the calculations the original S.T.A.R. Labs staff had left up—in celebration of their success—before the particle accelerator exploded on Earth-1. It even had Cisco's energetic, sloppy handwriting in the corner in red— _S.T.A.R. Labs forever!_ Caitlin had cleared this phrase off last, feeling the room grow even colder as she realized that the Cisco that had written this triumphant phrase was dead. Wally had been right. This Earth was left wanting.

With the typical blast of air and a few scattered leaves fluttering in, Savitar interrupted her.

Caitlin whirled around, trying her best not to look like he'd caught her off guard. “You're—” She broke off, squinting. Savitar was covered in sweat. He smelled like smoke. “I-Is that...soot?” She pointed to his hands, his nose.

Savitar brushed a thumb across the bridge of his nose, rubbing it against a finger and glancing down at it. He flopped an arm out and let it slap against his side. “Looks like it to me.”

“Why are you covered in soot?” Caitlin cautiously moved closer to inspect him, but Savitar turned his back to her. 

“I found out your Earth isn't the only one holding metas,” Savitar grunted.

Caitlin felt her heart drop for a moment, but she counted to ten inwardly. This was not something she wasn't fully prepared for. In fact, this was good. This was very good. If Savitar was to put his speed to good use, containing metahumans was the perfect outlet; they had learned that with Barry. This meant, more than ever, that every Earth could indeed use the Flash.

“What happened?” She reached for the bucket of tap water she'd been using to clear the demonstration board, soaking a fresh sheet of paper towel in it. 

Savitar exhaled, sounding very impatient. “Mick Rory happened.”

The rag in her hand slipped in surprise; she squeezed it out and offered it to him. “Heat Wave?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we used to call him?” He stared at the paper towel she was holding out for a moment, as if it might be soaked in vinegar rather than water. Finally he took it. “I forgot how young and cute we were.” He began clearing off his hands first, which Caitlin found counterproductive as it meant there wouldn't be any clean portions of the rag once he started on his face. But she wasn't about to tell him that. “Yeah,” he let out a chortle that spoke to his opinion of Heat Wave. “He was uh...he was _playing_ with one of the buildings downtown.”

“He blew up a _building_? Where is he?” Caitlin demanded. “Did you double-check the perimeter for stragglers? Why didn't you let me set up the comms—”

“Stop— _stop_.” Savitar spoke at the tail of her babbling, loudly, drowning out her panic. When she was finally quiet, he paused in his washing and scoffed, “What are you talking about?”

Caitlin blinked. Twice, very quickly. Her head reared. “The people. The civilians, didn't you clear them out first?”

“First.”

“Before you went after Rory.”

Silence. He just stood there. He didn't look confused, he didn't ask for more of an explanation, he just _stood_ there with a hollow, sleepier version of Barry's poker face.

“Oh god.” Caitlin struggled to keep her voice steady. “Please tell me you got everyone out safely.”

Savitar turned and began walking lazily up the dais to the workspace on the right of the entrance, glass walls distorting her view of him. He was examining the tech.

His careless gait turned Caitlin's innards to crystal. She could practically see her own breath as a cloud in front of her, stomach turning over at the ice cold fury that overwhelmed her.

“You didn't help them.” She didn't know why she was so shocked. But she knew why she was fighting a lump in her throat—she was looking at someone who wore the body of a man who embodied her definition of safety, and all the people in that building had burned while he looked the other way. The lump was for _them_. “You saw people _suffering_ , in _danger_ , and you ran away!”

“Wait a minute, aren't you always the one telling Barry not to rush in?” Savitar turned around, head jerking back, mouth pulled down in the perfect picture of confusion. But she saw it was as sincere as styrofoam fruit.

She couldn't speak. The smell of smoke he'd brought with him made her want to vomit. After a moment, she thought she said something like, “They needed your help!” but the roaring in her ears was too loud.

“But Caitlin,” he said, cocking his head at her. “It wasn't _safe_.” He spread his arms, a horizontal shrug. “I had to go.”

Caitlin didn't remember taking off her necklace. She heard it clatter to the dusty metal ground, felt the blizzard surge up her arms. Before she could take her next breath, she was blasting subzero air in his direction.

The force of it slammed the speedster into the computer resting on the table in that station. She heard the glass fold in on itself, watched him pick himself up. The world grew sharper suddenly and she knew her pupils had gone dangerously white.

He stood up, but she had already reached him, bunching the color of his stupid black shirt in her hand and pressing him against the back wall. An ice dagger formed in her right hand.

What stopped her was the smile.

He was _smiling_. He was grinning Barry's big, infectious grin, but this was different. It was the scariest thing she had ever seen. There was malice in the very _shape_ of it.

“Welcome back, Killer Frost,” he breathed.

 _Killer Frost_. “No.” Caitlin's icicle fell from her hand shattering to the floor. Echoes of her voice ran up and down the room as she forced the word out again, “No—”

Eyes on his grin, Caitlin felt herself regain control. She shoved the rage down, pushing as hard as she could, staggering backward and retrieving her necklace from the main floor. She couldn't. She couldn't do it again. Fastening her lifeline around her neck, the cold in her fingertips and her lungs died out. Heat pulsed through her. The world became closer, everything was thicker beneath her. 

Savitar was standing where she'd left him. She was not at all displeased to see that his hand was bleeding, probably from the collision with the monitor, red oozing between finger and thumb. 

Caitlin met his gaze, struggling to breathe.

Savitar turned his head slightly to the left, but his one functioning eye remained on her. “What made you think Rory was _my_ problem, anyway? I didn't think we came here to give Team Flash a sequel.”

He wasn't addressing her transformation. He had barely changed his tone. She felt bile rise in her throat as she looked at him. She didn't know how much longer she could keep it up, standing there. 

“You're sick,” she spat out. She couldn't think of anything else.

“Guilty.” Savitar bowed to her. “Is this you saying you didn't bring me my meds? _Doctor_?”

Barry's voice. Barry's eyes, Barry's bleeding hand. But no one had ever looked less like him in that moment.

When she didn't respond, Savitar stepped amiably over to the nearest keyboard, tapping a few times with one finger, something she couldn't see from where she stood. A moment later, one of the monitors mounted near the north wall flickered to life, fuzzy, out-of-practice speakers stuttering sound through the room.

On the screen, the remnant of a skyscraper, churning smoke into the air, could be seen. A frozen autumn sky was deep blue, in stark contrast to the cloud of black trying to blot it out.

“ _...just joining us, this is Sandra Peterson, reporting live from downtown Central City. I'm here outside the city's largest residential structure, just a block or so away from Englewood, where it seems a freak explosion has claimed the building. Central City's fire department responded not ten minutes later, pulling in to contain the flames—only to find that the fire had gone out, seemingly on its own. Police and ambulance are still searching for casualties, but Chief John Diggle has reported that there was not a soul in the area when they arrived...._ ”

Caitlin felt all the air she'd managed to gulp in leave her abruptly. The world spun for a second; a glove of pure relief slid over her entire body.

Eyes glued to the screen, Caitlin spluttered, “You—you—”

She turned to gawk at him. Savitar was still bent over the keyboard, but he too was fixed to the news report. Completely emotionless. The malice was gone, the grin was gone.

“You did save them.” Caitlin whispered it. Her hand went to her snowflake pendant, clutching it as if it were an inhaler. “You stopped the fire.”

No response.

“But...” Her breathing picked up again; the anger was back. “Then—why did you—”

“I wanted to see if you'd do it.” Savitar's shoulders bobbed, rising exaggeratedly high, nearly touching his jawline. A small smile, the smile his duplicate wore when something was giving him boyish delight, appeared slowly. His nose even scrunched up. “I wanted to see you take it off.” He held a finger and thumb—the ones covered in blood—a millimeter apart. “Just for a li'l bit.”

Caitlin could not wrap her mind around him. She could hardly believe she wasn't dreaming just then. Everything, every detail of what had happened in that last fifteen minutes did not make sense to her. She just looked at him, feeling the crease of horror in every muscle of her face.

“What you just did...” She sucked in. “I was right. You _are_ sick.” She made her way to the exit—she had to lie down. She had to get away from him.

“Disappointed?” Savitar called, and she heard a rumble of satisfaction in the word.

Caitlin paused. “No,” she told him. “I'd only be disappointed if I expected something better.”

She didn't see it, but his grip on the edge of the screen's frame tightened considerably, turning his knuckles white.

 

“You are trying so hard not to be Barry Allen,” Caitlin began, swallowing, “that you've forgotten what it means to be the Flash.” She turned out the lights before she left.


	7. Ruptured Stein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin meets an old/new friend.

For a substance so adrenaline-inducing, the smell of coffee was a comforting one. Caitlin was pleased to find that no matter which Earth, which Central City was in question, there was always a CCJitters with its warm colors and warmer beverages. Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs was a suffocating environment. The place that was more home to her than her own apartment back in Earth-1, in _this_ world, the place you were least likely to find her. Suddenly Jitters was safer, more comfortable; she'd even memorized the names of at least two baristas.

She had been on Earth-66 for a week. A full seven days. And every day the chill she felt without her Team Flash family got deeper and deeper. Every day she worked hard at restoring some part of the building she was used to spending all hours in. Every day she searched for work, something for Savitar to do to create a living for himself, without connecting him to his former life. Not that he thanked her for it—but it wasn't as if she'd told him what she was doing. 

Barry's time remnant was applying the same tunnel-vision fallback his counterpart often did when things were unclear. He was throwing every waking minute into increasing his speed.

Caitlin didn't know if it was still a bit of a twisted god-complex bleeding through, or if it was the fact that, when it came down to it, all any speedster could ever truly count on was running. The human brain released endorphins when running at certain lengths, endorphins similar to the kind it released when too much alcohol was consumed. Because Savitar was a duplicate of Barry, he inherited the inability to get drunk. He was left without the average person's escape—perhaps running at superhuman speeds was his substitute. Caitlin had never asked Barry about it; she hadn't needed to. Usually Barry ran to help someone. Savitar was only running to help himself.

Heat Wave hadn't been seen or heard from again, not since the day Savitar had preformed his surprise rescue mission. No more metahumans—and Caitlin _had_ confirmed, through extensive research, that Mick Rory's abilities were a side affect of this Earth's particle accelerator explosion and not due to a heat gun—no more incidents, either. At least, not that she knew of. Savitar didn't share what he did on his exploits around and around the city, but she had decided after the skyscraper event that she didn't need to worry about his intentions. Besides...she had him bugged. She had installed comms and one of Cisco's disguised tracker-patches in his jacket the night after he'd taunted her into using her powers. Maybe it had been spite, but tagging him without his consent could only produce good things, of that she was certain. And according to the monitors back in the nearly-refurbished Cortex, he really _hadn't_ been doing anything but running.

They hadn't spoken about the burning building and they hadn't spoken about his random, wicked desire to say _hi_ to Killer Frost for a 'little bit'. Looking back on the encounter, Caitlin could only feel disgust and a fair amount of embarrassment. She should not have been baited so easily into losing control, especially not by him. She should've been more cautious—it was just—again and again— _that face_. Net of scars or not, she could not look at Barry Allen and naturally build a wall around herself. It was too hard, impossible.

The two of them had settled into a daily routine of avoiding one another. Savitar was out blazing around the city before she woke up, and should she venture downtown herself, he would be in his makeshift living quarters when she got back to S.T.A.R. Labs. Out of sight, out of mind. She didn't harbor any theories that he was doing it because he felt guilty—she could _tell_ there wasn't an ounce of guilt in him. Not for what had happened after the whole Heat Wave nonsense, anyway. No, he was probably avoiding her for a very normal, human reason. He did not like her. Not as a friend, not as a guide, not as anything at all. Not even as a person. It radiated off of him when they managed to be in the same room—she was part of Team Flash, and that made her lower than lint in his eyes. Barry's face or not, she was finding it very difficult to scrape any natural, positive emotions regarding _him_ out, either. Especially after what he'd done to try and goad Killer Frost out of hiding.

The best place to deviate from him, to feel warm again, to be at home where she wasn't at home, was Jitters. She sat at a corner table, laptop out, reading up on the differences in this world and the possible jobs Savitar could apply for. There were more than a few roadblocks in this process. Each time she clicked to fill out an application, she couldn't even get past the request for a full name. What should his employers, Earth-66's general population, call him? She reached for the _B_ key and pulled away several times. Caitlin couldn't bring herself to type Barry's name. With every try, all she had to do was picture that grin he'd worn, his little shrug, the blue of his damaged one eye, and she retreated. There was just no way.

She needed a break. Just one little break from searching. Normally Caitlin was content to gorge on her work; for her, to feel productive was to feel full and happy. But today, with everything so unnecessarily difficult around her, she just wanted to read something that didn't have anything to do with fixing someone else's problems.

So of course, she went right to Mind Hacks—a popular science site she'd had bookmarked since its fruition. A little light reading would do wonders for her exhausted mind.

There was a very shrill beeping in her purse, and Caitlin jumped, her mug of hot tea rattling on its saucer. Cisco's walkie talkie did not come with a vibration setting.

Fishing it out, Caitlin accepted the call. She let her thumb rest on the side of the device, where an invisible heat sensor allowed her to transform the walkie talkie into a neat little bluetooth device she could wear like an earring. 

A voice crackled out, “Cait?” and the cafe was softer and even more inviting with its addition.

“Barry!” Caitlin breathed, every muscle in her body relaxing. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”

“Hey hey, that sounds an awful lot like the best bio-engineer in the multiverse!”

“Oh—hi, Caitlin!”

“Tell her I'm eating a cruller every day. And my leg's almost totally healed!”

Caitlin nearly cried, hearing so many familiar tones at once. Cisco, Iris, Wally. It was as if her heart had just been plugged in, the way you plug in the lights on a Christmas tree.

The smile was evident in Barry's voice. “Sorry. I put you on speaker.”

“Believe me, I don't mind,” Caitlin mumbled, wishing she'd chosen waterproof mascara this morning. “How is everyone?”

“We're fine,” Barry promised. “We're all fine.”

“How's it going with the job hunt?” Iris demanded.

In the background, shuffling could be heard as Cisco berated Wally. “Okay I know you speedsters need your calories, but that is one too many donuts.”

“Dude, you don't even like the cream-filled ones, chill out—”

“I can literally see you getting wider, and your suit does not come in XL, pal.”

Caitlin fought a chortle and answered Iris, “It would be going a lot better if I knew what he wanted to do.”

“Haven't you asked him?” Barry seemed surprised.

Caitlin was silent, running her finger along the rim of her mug.

“Are you biting your lower lip right now, because—I can't see it.”

Caitlin released her lower lip guiltily. She cleared her throat. “No.”

“Cait.”

“He wouldn't answer me if I did ask, Barry. I've told you, he's barely _here_ as it is. I know we came here with an adequate amount of funding, but—what's going to happen when that runs out and he still hasn't shown any interest in a _normal_ job?” She let her hand flop down on the table, just as exasperated with this Earth's speedster as she could be with Earth-1's.

Barry's small sigh rattled the audio's foreground and she tried not to wince at the fuzziness assaulting her ear. It wouldn't do to be making faces when the patrons in the cafe couldn't see who you were talking to. Central City— _all_ Central Cities—had enough crazies to go around. 

“Keep working on it, okay? We'll brainstorm over here, too, don't worry. If he doesn't want a normal job, then...what about one that's not so normal?” She could practically see Barry pressing an unnecessary hand to his forehead, as if to shield his eyes. In a moment he'd probably let his arm drop back down. Sure enough, she heard the slap of his hand against his jeans, with a much more silent pulse of fuzziness.

“I'm not sure the Flash is the best way to move forward where he's concerned,” Caitlin muttered, closing her eyes to the thought. The icy episode from days earlier had her shying away from the pursuit of a Flash on this Earth—she didn't think there was much evidence supporting the heroism in _this_ Barry Allen.

“You said he saved those people from the burning building the other day,” Iris reminded her, as if reading her mind.

“Which I still do not believe,” Cisco informed them from somewhere else in the room; he was shouting.

“She said there was a news report, everybody got out,” Wally argued, not sounding too interested either way.

“And you trust everything you see on TV?”

“I didn't see it.”

“Aha!”

“Guys!” Iris cut them both off, talking over them. “Caitlin, all I'm saying is, if he really _did_ save those people, I mean—he didn't _have_ to, did he? But he did it anyway. That's got to mean something. He _could_ be the Flash again if he wanted to.”

“And from what you've told me, it sounds like he might want to,” Barry added, eager to hand Caitlin the bright side as usual.

“That was before he tried turning me into Killer Frost,” Caitlin finally huffed.

Barry was quiet for a moment. In fact, the whole other end was quiet. Caitlin's first instinct the night Savitar had toyed with her was to call Barry. When she'd told him what had happened, he had been furious. She'd had to talk him down; he had speculated opening another breach to confront his double. Trying to retrieve Killer Frost was no small potatoes. Once Caitlin had convinced him that Savitar showed no actual signs of converting her for world domination purposes—just a twisted desire to have her lose control—Barry had relinquished the world-hopping idea. But he remained overly cautious ever since. Cisco was now calling her the same time every night to get an update on Savitar's '' _tude_ ', but Caitlin suspected it might also be to check that she still _sounded_ like Caitlin Snow, and not her wintery counterpart.

“You can come home whenever you want, Cait,” Barry was telling her now, voice smooth and gentle. Soothing. “But you're there to give him a chance to do the right thing, right?”

“I'm here to try,” Caitlin admitted.

“Then keep trying. I know you, I know you can do it. He doesn't have a lot of other options now, he'll come around.”

“And if he steps out of line again, tries any funny business,” Cisco added cheerily, “we just pop over, confiscate the Hammond Cuff, and it's bye-bye Pizza Face. Easy.”

“Cisco,” Caitlin groaned, finger to her temple. 

“I'm just saying. My body is ready.”

Caitlin shook her head fondly. “Barry, can't you think of anything he could do? Didn't you ever want to be anything other than a forensic scientist?”

“I wanted to be a detective at one point,” Barry recalled. Caitlin could hear Iris laughing, but it sounded disjointed, as if she were trying to cover it up. A second later Barry's indignant “Excuse you,” could be heard.

“I can't picture you walking around in a suit with a gun like my dad, that's all,” Iris was explaining, full of mirth.

“Thank you. Thank you for that.”

“And I can't picture Savitar doing the same,” Caitlin cut in, sighing. The laughter on the other end died out. “I don't think he'll want _any_ thing to do with Barry Allen's lifestyle. And that includes his more domestic line of work.”

“Then don't try to make him Barry Allen,” Barry replied. “Try to make him the Flash.”

“Barry—he—”

“I know, but—he can't be a god anymore, he doesn't need to. He can't be a rogue. He needs an outlet. And I know for a fact that the best version of me—the version that makes me feel... _whole_...is the one where I'm the Flash. He's gotta want that, somewhere deep in there. You just have to remind him what that feels like. Helping people.”

Caitlin glanced around the room, trying to picture Savitar sporting red again. It wasn't easy. “But suppose he just—”

She dropped off, eyes widening. A flash of white hair, a familiar turn of the head. 

“Oh my—” She put a finger to her communicator, pressing it further in, making sure they could still hear her as she whispered, “You are not going to believe who I'm seeing right now.”

“Who is it?” Cisco's voice was high with excitement. “Caitlin?”

“Mar—Martin Stein,” Caitlin hissed. 

“For real?”

“He's standing in line not ten feet away from me!”

It was definitely Professor Stein. Smart tweed jacket, polished spectacles, scanning the bake case with scary-intelligent eyes. He had his hands folded behind his back, and when the barista got his attention, he adjusted his glasses and straightened up, clearing his throat and stepping up to order.

“How does he look?” Barry asked.

“Fine,” Caitlin replied, surprised. “He looks fine. He's—I think he's ordering a muffin.”

“What kind of muffin?”

“Cisco.”

“It could be important! Every little detail, guys.”

“It's cranberry,” Caitlin informed them distractedly. Her mind was whirling. “I think I'm going to talk to him.” She was already scooting off of her stool.

“Cisco, pull up everything you can on Earth-66's Martin Stein,” Barry ordered.

“Already on it.”

As she approached the older gentleman, Caitlin suddenly hesitated, wondering what on earth she was going to say. What excuse did she have for talking to him? For all he knew, she was a complete stranger. She'd done her best to keep a low profile on this Earth, what with her doppelganger being dead here and all, but no one had recognized her yet. It was lucky she was only staying for a few weeks. Would Stein have any connection to S.T.A.R. Labs on Earth-66? She knew from research that her name had been included on a newspaper's list of the dead after the particle accelerator of this world failed, but had he seen it? Best just to introduce herself as Doctor Snow.

“I'm no scientist or anything, but—I get that he's definitely a big name on that Earth.” Iris was reading an article aloud to her. “ _Renowned for his theories on the principle of causation, having accepted numerous awards for his studies and essays on transmutation, Martin Stein is head of Hudson Industries. His company has been making great strides in the world of science since 1987..._ ”

“Basically he's the same brain there as he is here,” Barry summarized, his voice slow and distracted as if he too were reading. “The only difference is...that...he turned Hudson University into some kind of ultra-rich research facility.”

“ _And_ he's not one half of a sick superhero fusion called Firestorm,” Cisco sounded as if he were speaking around a donut of his own.

“And that,” Barry agreed.

“Man, if you could get him to sign on,” Cisco realized, and there was a sound like the rolling back of a chair, “he'd be perfect for Team Flash 66. Which is totally what we're calling it now. I mean, we had Harrison Wells, what's Savitar gonna have? He hasn't made any friends, has he?”

“Not that I know of,” Caitlin whispered, eyes still on Stein.

“I knew it. Poor baby's forever alone.” Cisco snorted. “Thank the Lord.”

“Cisco's right.” That was Barry again. “We've had our fair share of Wells' to help us out. Cait, just...I don't know, get on his good side. If we wanna try to rebuild Savitar his own team, he's gonna need a genius backing him up.”

“That's if he even wants a team.” Cisco coughed. “Sorry, not helping.”

Caitlin took a deep breath. “Okay—okay, I'm—I'm a student, I'm a young—no, that won't work...”

“Maybe you...just moved to town?” Iris suggested.

“And you've heard of him. That way you won't even be lying,” Wally chimed in.

“We'll toss some references your way,” Cisco offered. “I've got a bunch of news articles and essays standing by. Just do what Simon says and you'll be fine.”

“I'm going in,” Caitlin announced, resuming her approach. She heard Barry snicker at her somber tone and rolled her eyes. She was nervous.

Of course, when she did catch up to him he was turning around with a hot drink and paper to-go bag in his hand, and he nearly collided with her.

“Oh!”

“I beg your pardon, I'm so sorry,” Martin Stein blustered, giving her an awkward little nod and trying to move around her.

“No, no—” Caitlin fixed a smile upon her face. “It was my fault, I just—I recognized you from—you're Professor Martin Stein, aren't you?”

“So smooth, so smooth,” Cisco praised. Wally was chortling.

Professor Stein blinked more than he needed to, frowning at her. “Yes—yes, that's right. And who might you be?”

“Cai—D-Doctor Snow.” Caitlin shook his hand with difficulty; he had to set the coffee down on a nearby table. “I didn't mean to bother you, but I've...I've always wanted to meet you. I'm a very big fan of your work.”

Stein's eyes lit up. “My work? In what way?”

“Uhhhh, let's try—transmutation,” Cisco ordered. “But don't go from memory, there's no F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M. Project on his Earth.”

“Essays,” Wally clipped onto the end of Cisco's sentence, and Caitlin could imagine him pointing helpfully at the articles on a monitor.

“Your essays on transmutation,” Caitlin stammered. “They are truly inspiring.”

“Ah.” Stein squinted, looking pleasantly surprised. “I see, well—thank you very much. It is a largely unexplored territory, I admit, but...absolutely fascinating content if one is willing to put in the work.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Snow. 

“If one were to combine two different elements,” Stein was monologuing excitedly, “by rewriting certain atoms on a subatomic level—this is all hypothetical, of course...there could be some very promising opportunities to influence the country's fighting forces, the men and women who protect our borders, with a weapon—controlled, obviously, and in the proper hands—that...”

Caitlin nodded, not finding it difficult to look interested; he was speaking her language. Even if she had heard most of it already from the Stein she knew.

“He wrote some stuff on time travel, it looks like.” Iris had taken the mic. “Should we go with that too? Do you want me to read it to you?”

“She can't answer you,” Cisco admonished.

“Read it.” Barry sounded impatient.

“Okay...okay, here's a clipping from an interview,” Iris began. 

“I agree, completely, yes,” Caitlin interrupted Stein. “And your theories on time travel—I mean—” she began repeating what she heard Iris telling her, not surprised to find it sounded very familiar. “That time is a kind of highway...something you could access if you had the right tools...”

“Yes!” Stein had been standing beside a raised table, now he slid easily into a chair and she quickly took the one opposite to it. “Yes, I've been studying this for half my life. I believe that time travel is not only possible—it is the key to so many wonderful possibilities in terms of learning, growing the human race, helping them stretch to new heights—the _knowledge_ man could possess—”

“Preach. Preach it!” Cisco crowed. 

“Exactly!” Caitlin found herself getting into the idea, perfectly aware she had experienced the ramifications of time travel and had come out a little worse for wear. “Who knows what we could open ourselves up to if we spent more time on our pasts, our futures...”

“Precisely!” Stein beamed at her. “And I believe the gateway to such a brave new world is _speed_.”

Caitlin smiled back. “You know, Professor Stein...I have a feeling you could be right about that.”

“What did you say your name was, miss?”

They spent the next hour discussing every scientific probability that came into their heads. Caitlin felt her brain expanding just being in the same room with the sharp, breezy older man. How had she not sat and had coffee with him before? On _her_ Earth? She'd been so focused on separating him from Ronnie when they'd first met, she hadn't realized she could gain a kindred spirit. Now he was one of the Legends, it was too late. But she had today, she had this afternoon, and it was iron sharpening iron. She hadn't felt this enthusiastic about science in a long time; the last three years had been all about helping the Flash. Stein seemed relaxed too, very clearly enjoying himself. This was far easier than she had expected. She would've thought he'd be aloof, very busy, but after a while she began to get the sense that Martin Stein had not had someone to geek out with in ages.

“Get to know him,” Barry instructed as she was finishing off her third cup of tea. “Ask some more questions—not about science.”

“What, like she's on a date?” Iris chided. Caitlin tried to control her expression.

“That's not right,” Wally muttered.

“No, just—be a little warmer, Cait,” Barry elaborated. “You're too stiff.”

 _Well, excuse me_ , Caitlin wanted to huff. How stiff could she be? She was already happily bouncing theories and facts off of the gentleman. Any warmer and it might look suspicious. This wasn't the Professor Stein she and the rest of the team had grown to love. She had to find the right mixture of friendliness and estrangement. Kind enough to become friends, distant enough to maintain the idea that this really was their first meeting. It was a formula, she could master it. 

“As much fun,” Caitlin began, setting her mug down, “as we both know the world of science and biology can be, it's nice to get away once in a while. Do you mind my asking what you do on your days off, Professor?”

Stein's cheery demeanor dropped a little, and he stuttered, glancing down at his coffee. “Well, I...I must admit I don't have much of a personal life.” He gave an awkward little chuckle. “Mainly I spend...most of my days at the, er, the hospital, really.”

Caitlin's stomach turned over. Her heart beat gray for a moment. “The hospital?” she repeated.

Stein fiddled with his cufflinks. “Yes. My wife, I'm afraid, is not, shall we say, long for this world.” His tone had become too quiet, too passive.

“Abort,” came Cisco's voice, dull and tired all of a sudden. “This might not have been the best idea, guys.”

“Let him finish,” Barry murmured.

“I'm so sorry,” Caitlin whispered. 

“Yes, well.” Stein's eyes were on the sleeve around his cup. “It's a form of damaged lungs, something the city's best doctors cannot seem to rectify.”

“How did it happen?” Caitlin bit her lip. “If...you don't mind my asking.”

“Not at all,” Stein sighed. “I've had to explain to much of the press and concerned, distant relatives. It's become a kind of script to me. This will be no different.” He took another deep breath, but by this time he spoke in a monotone reminiscent to Savitar's. “It was after a meeting with some of my staff. We were discussing whether or not we should take advantage of the rather deserted S.T.A.R. Labs. You may have heard of it, just east of here a bit? Yes, well, I conceded that, given the terrible tragedy of Harrison Wells' beloved particle accelerator's combustion, it would be in poor taste to 'swoop in', if you will, and snatch up a place that had belonged to so many intelligent, promising men and women and their research. Regardless, the meeting ran long and Clarissa—my wife—decided to meet me at one of our favorite little bistros instead of the parking lot. Evidently she managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The bistro was attacked by...” 

Stein paused, licking his lips. He looked up at her, probing, and removed his glasses.

“Miss Snow, do you believe in the impossible?”

Caitlin saw green eyes and risked a tiny smile. “Yes I do, Professor Stein.”

“To what extent?”

Caitlin opened her mouth, but found she didn't have a response at the ready. Finally she settled for, “I think you'd be surprised.”

“Then perhaps you will believe what many others do not in my little story. According to witnesses, according to _Clarissa_ , the last time we spoke—there was a man at the bistro that night. A man responsible for her pain, a man whose actions have her struggling for every breath she now takes.” He pounded the table with a weathered finger. There was no eccentric, lovable glint in his eyes here. This was a man suffering and angry. “Authorities will swear by the use of a poison gas bomb, a kind of hidden weapon, but I believe it was that man's doing. And I don't mean by way of tactical props, I mean he _was_ the gas. He literally transformed himself into a cloud of chemicals fatal to the human system.”

“The Mist,” Caitlin heard Barry breathe in her ear.

“Now, I know it seems illogical, but according to my extensive research, there was no sign of a bomb. No sign of any equipment forcing the substance in from the outside, it came from the _inside_ of the building. My wife was one of the few that made it out alive that night...but barely. Her lungs are corrupted in a way that cannot be resolved.” Stein put a hand to his head. “It's far-fetched, I realize, but—”

“No,” Caitlin reassured him, leaning down a little to look him in the eye. “No, I believe you, Professor.”

“You do?” His voice wavered.

“Of course.” Caitlin looked down at the table. “I've lost someone I cared about to...to the impossible, too.”

Stein's eyebrows came down, he peered at her as if he could force her secrets out with intensity alone. “How do you mean, my dear?”

“Careful, Caitlin,” Cisco interrupted. Caitlin had almost forgotten they were all listening back on Earth-1.

“It's—complicated.” Caitlin took her time, choosing her words carefully. “Just that I know what it's like to face the—”

A very shrill, piercing sound of static blared in her ear. She heard Cisco say, “Not cool!” and Barry's disjointed voice warning her, “We're being cut—” before all noise died completely.

Then, from the silence, a crackly “Caitlin!” burst out. Caitlin's heartbeat quickened.

Professor Stein straightened. “Miss Snow?”

“I—I'm so sorry, Professor, I...just one second, please excuse me...”

Caitlin ducked away from the table, her back to the genius. She cupped one hand around the device in her ear. The voice that had called her name sounded muffled, but she recognized it.

“Barry? What is it?” Caitlin whispered. “What happened to the connection? Is something jamming—”

“It's me,” came the blunt interjection.

Caitlin's head reared. “Savitar?” she sputtered.

“Get back down here. I'm guessing you'll wanna see this.”

“How did you know about the comms?” Caitlin demanded. Under Cisco's instruction, she had connected them to her walkie talkie, just in case. It saved space in her purse, rather than carrying a headset, the walkie talkie could serve both Team Flash _and_ Barry's remnant.

“You're loud. You're slow. You're pretty terrible at stealth mode. I knew you bugged me the minute you left my room. Get back down here,” he repeated, more slowly, as if she hadn't been paying attention the first time.

Caitlin glanced back at Professor Stein, who was drinking his coffee and staring out the window, probably in an attempt to give her some privacy—though there were far enough away from one another not to be able to hear her conversation.

“What do you need?” Caitlin huffed. “I'm busy.”

“Now.”

With that, he severed the connection.

Caitlin tapped the bluetooth speaker, trying to make sure he had actually hung up on her and the machine hadn't just turned off due to low battery. Of course he had. Trying to control her temper, she turned to Professor Stein, gathering up her things.

“I am so, so sorry,” Caitlin said again, picking up her coffee. “Something just came up.”

“Of course,” Stein cleared his throat. “Well, I must say, it was rather refreshing to meet you, Miss Snow. I don't get much conversation apart from the staff at my company and, you know, the odd nurse when visiting Clarissa.”

Caitlin shook his hand, smiling, recognizing the pain in his eyes and throbbing for him. There was nothing she could think of to say.

“I do hope to see you here more often,” Stein confessed. “It was so nice to feel... _inspired_ again.”

“I feel exactly the same way, Professor.” Caitlin grinned at him. “And I would like that very much.”

Satisfied in her work, she rushed from the cafe, wondering what in the world the Flash's double wanted now.


	8. One Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Savitar's first trip out as something that _could_ be considered a hero...

Are you one of those people who loves to play card games? Board games? Games like Ninja, Signs, Charades, even Sardines? Some people can play those games over and over with their friends and family, their fallback, something everyone knows how to play, and never get sick of it. Others become bored with it, or simply haven't played in a while, and the next time you all gather to do it again, that one person can't remember how to play. You've all done it a thousand times, but everyone has that friend who needs a refresher.

For Savitar, being in S.T.A.R. Labs and working with the tech was very much like that. At first glance, the monitors and enhancers and tools were like something out of a dream he couldn't quite grasp. He examined the cords, even opened up a few computers to try and recall what made them tick. Snow had gotten most of the ones in the Cortex working again, but the computer in the engineering lab was still down, as was the one upstairs at reception. Savitar had begun working on the one in the engineering lab, and, finishing in about 20 minutes flat due to his meta abilities, he moved to the one in the Cortex. The one Killer Frost had tossed him into days ago.

Those glacier-white eyes had actually been more familiar than the browns she'd been sporting in this timeline her team had rewired. The timeline in which Iris didn't die, the timeline in which Caitlin Snow was never wounded from Abra Kadabra's escape.

Savitar's memories of the original timeline, the one where Killer Frost joined him, fiercely loyal and deadly as an avalanche, were blurring as the days went by. He did not pretend to harbor feelings of affection toward her—but they had an agreement. They had shared qualities. Barry Allen would not help his time remnant, though the two were practically of the same mind. And Barry Allen had been too obsessed with saving Iris to see that Caitlin had needed saving more. Until, of course, he was too late, and she'd died on the operating table, Killer Frost emerging in her stead.

His goal in tugging Frost out of Snow the other day had not been to turn her to darkness, to take over Earth-66. That drive in him had died out. Something about being rescued by Team Flash, being proven wrong about their present characters, had taken that fight right out of him. But again, it hurt to be around them, and the best thing for it was to live somewhere they did not. So here he was, with diligent Doctor Snow to keep an eye on him. Something curdled and writhing inside of him wanted her to turn cold. He wanted her to lose control. Wanted her to be something more than the determined, spotless scientist. He wanted to see some imperfection, something that proved she was...

He didn't want to dwell on it. He'd failed, anyway. And that made him more frustrated with her than ever. Savitar didn't have time for what he didn't understand. He remembered a time, long ago, memories that weren't really his, where he had understood no one better than Caitlin Snow. None of it mattered now.

Finishing with the computer—glass and all—Savitar moved to check that the rest were still functioning properly. He switched on the wall monitors. They were on the same channel they had been the day Frost had made her small appearance: the live news channel.

“ _Pandemonium has broken out here at Central City's big Engineering EXPO, as a mystery assailant has just begun to terrorize the crowds gathered at each booth. According to our eye in the sky, the stranger has set fire to many of the creations on display and is now turning his attention to the public itself. Police urge civilians to stay away from the area as they try to control the situation. More updates to follow. This is Sandra Peterson, Central City News, reporting live..._ ”

Savitar watched the chaos onscreen. It was Rory again. Of course. The dancing little pyro couldn't keep his hands to himself. Savitar felt contempt, annoyance, but nothing like the rage that once filled Barry Allen at seeing a villain lay waste to the innocent. There was a spark of it, somewhere flickering beneath the rubble that had built up after everything else that had happened to him. 

Barry Allen would race to the rescue. Savitar just watched, searching for the desire he remembered, the drive to help and protect, waiting for it to surge through him. He couldn't. It didn't. Where had it gone? Did he even want it? It wasn't laziness that rooted his feet to the ground. He just _could not_ care the way the original had. The way he remembered caring. And maybe that should've made him sad, maybe that should've broken him. It just wasn't there. He wasn't that person. Technically he never had been.

He knew someone who _would_ care, though. Someone driven to straight-up melodramatics over the screams coming from the news feed. He didn't know what made him reach for the comms attached to his jacket's lapel. Maybe he simply didn't have anything better to do.

“Caitlin.” Something crackled on the other end, a few scattered voices. His connection must've been mingling with that of another. They could get over it.

There was a moment of shuffling, Snow apologizing to someone wherever she was. 

Then, “Barry?” 

_Barry?_ For a moment he was frozen. It had been... _so long_ , eons, since someone had called him _Barry_. Hearing the name actually directed at him, he could hear echoes of others saying it with her. His mother, his father, Joe, Iris, Cisco, Wells, Jesse, Felicity, Wally, Oliver. It swamped his mind; his mouth went dry. He leaned, back and head, against the nearest wall, trying to shut it out. It hadn't come on this strong since Iris had touched him, just the once, back on Earth-1. He kept his eyes open this time. He couldn't picture it all as the life he ached for flooded through, not as long as he was looking at the present. S.T.A.R. Labs ceiling, cobwebs, the smell of mold. He fought to control his emotions, something he hadn't found too difficult until recently.

Caitlin was saying something else, asking too many questions. In a dizzying jolt back to reality, he realized she must have been talking to the original moments before, and she just thought that remained who she was babbling to, after a failing connection.

There was a foul taste in the back of his throat. He said quickly, harshly, “It's me,” to make her stop.

“Savitar?” It was so like her to sound that baffled. For someone boasting an above-average IQ, she wasn't as bright as he thought he remembered. Or maybe she was, and all he cared to see were the flaws. He had been counting the things she simply didn't notice.

“Get back down here,” he ordered bluntly, eyes returning to the news. “I'm guessing you'll wanna see this.”

She wasn't listening to him. “How did you know about the comms?” Focused on semantics. He missed Killer Frost.

He tilted his head to either side with every explanation, eyebrows raised as if she could see him. “You're loud. You're slow. You're pretty terrible at stealth mode.” Onscreen, Rory was setting fire to the warehouse outside of which the EXPO was set up. “I knew you bugged me the minute you left my room. Get. Back. Down here.” Maybe she'd hear him if he spoke more slowly.

“What do you need?” She sounded impatient. His two-fingered grip tightened on his lapel as he stretched it closer to his mouth. “I'm busy.”

Busy? She was at Jitters again. He could hear the silverware and the espresso machines in the background. She was as naive as he remembered. He had run the entire length of the city at least thirty times every day; she didn't think he noticed her sitting at the same table, in the same corner of the same cafe, at the same time every morning? She didn't notice _him_ flashing around Central City. But then, most people chose to ignore the impossible. Savitar had trained himself to catalogue every detail of his surroundings. He could say he'd been working off of advice from Oliver Queen, but that was someone else's life, wasn't it? Eternity in the Speed Force sharpened your senses. He'd noticed a moth on the satellite of a skyscraper the other day in the space of a single heartbeat. 

What could be so important at Jitters, he wondered, that his little governess just couldn't be bothered? Unless it was Barry Allen. _Then_ she was so intent on keeping their connection online, antsy Caitlin didn't know what to do with herself. It was almost embarassing to be apart of.

“Now,” he spat into the mic, and so as not to leave room for discussion, he switched the device off. If she meant what she'd said when she offered to come here with him, she'd be by within the hour, average speed or no. If not, no skin off of his back.

 

Caitlin was back 20 minutes earlier than he'd expected her.

If she thought seeing him eat was surreal, she didn't know the meaning of the word. When Caitlin Snow entered a room, Savitar could think of nothing in his life more surreal than her presence, her existence. Being in the same timeline, breathing the same air as he did.

Savitar came from loss. He came from a time where Caitlin Snow was dead, and Killer Frost had gone down fighting, locked up with all his secrets. He came from a time where Team Flash was dissolved. Seeing her as her human self, still apart of that team, was like looking at a ghost. He dreamt of her, dreamt of all of them, every night. The Speed Force had choked him with their faces, their memories. With his own bitterness. 

To see a portion of his past—Barry's past—just run right into the Cortex as if any of this was real, any of this _fit_ in his timeline...that was as surreal as you could get. Killer Frost was just a sentence in his story. Caitlin Snow was a cliffhanger the editor had added at the end. Even he didn't know what would happen next where she was concerned. And Savitar didn't like not being in control.

She didn't seem to care what he liked, because there she was anyway, throwing her purse into the nearest chair. “I came as fast as I could,” she gasped, leaning against the curved white desk.

“Really?” Savitar's back was still pressed against the north wall. “That's depressing.”

Caitlin ignored the jab. She reached for the nearest keyboard, booting up her favorite monitor. “What did you need me for?”

Savitar chortled, spirits rising with mirth. “I don't need you,” he told her casually, rolling his eyes.

Caitlin glanced up at him, but looked away too quickly for him to enjoy his handiwork. He hadn't been able to spy any kind of stinging in her irises. _Doctor Snow, Barry doesn't need you._ Didn't that at least earn him a watery stare? How boring.

“This,” he said, turning up the volume on the wall monitor, “is why I called you.”

Now she was gawking at the news feed above, on the wall monitor. He watched the color drain from her face, watched the cool confidence as she set her jaw; she'd seen this kind of thing a million times before. So had he. The difference was that she intended to do something about it.

“Heat Wave,” she surmised. “This is—at this rate there won't be anything left for him to burn. We need to...” She trailed off, finally tearing her gaze from the screen to the speedster lounging in the corner. He watched frozen disappointment flit across her being. It was alive in the tightening of her neck, the curl of her fingers. Then it was gone. “Are you listening?”

Savitar blinked, slow as a cat, eyes tracing the waves in her hair. “You want me to stop him.”

“Yes, I do.”

He took a moment to lock eyes with her, making sure she had a moment to hope, before shaking his head. “No.”

She was counting to ten, he could see it. “They need you, people are _dying_.”

“People die every day.” Savitar shrugged. “Why are _they_ so important?” He nodded to the screen. “It's so short. You all live such tiny lives, you're lucky you have time to do anything at all.” He had only to close his eyes to understand it all, remembering how long he'd been around, from 2024 to an eternity in the Speed Force, to months on Earth-1, all the way up to this one breath in this one room in this one world. When you'd lived that long, ordinary people's lifespan seemed like setting a traffic cone down next to a fir tree and comparing the two. “Maybe it's their time. Ever think of it like that?”

Caitlin's face was still as stone. “You want to get faster, don't you?”

“You have your hobbies.”

“What better way to increase your abilities than to pit them against a predicament like this?” Caitlin gestured wildly to the news feed with a hand. “You have Barry's memories. The only way he ever got faster was by testing his limits, fighting metas, _saving_ people.” She raised her eyebrows. “You can run as fast as you want when you're on your own, without anything getting in your way. How much faster do you think you'll be once you've remastered a few roadblocks?”

“Pretty speech. No flash cards?” She didn't respond to that and he grunted. “You're forgetting something—it's been a while since I chased down a meta. You've never actually seen _me_ try it, have you?”

“Are you saying you're rusty?”

Savitar leaned off of the wall, torso only, hands in his pockets. “What if you don't like the way I do it?”

Caitlin glared at him. He knew that face. She was writing out an equation, she was weighing a phial, she was spellchecking an essay, retracing her steps in a procedure. She was trying to read him without the instruction manual. Good luck.

“As long as you don't _kill_ anyone,” she said coldly, “I don't care _how_ you help them.”

Oh, he saw that one coming. Too bad Killer Frost had never had the chance to do any killing. Maybe she'd have understood how fun it could be, and he'd be free to play with Rory all afternoon, no restrictions. Instead he was stuck with Snow's familiar honor code, the way she pursed her lips like that one high school teacher who would not stand for any back-talk. 

Savitar's milky eye glittered. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, palms pointed to the ceiling, fingers parted. He felt a mocking, crooked smile form. “What are we waiting for?”

This threw her. She jittered in place. “You'll do it?”

“I need to stretch my legs,” he sighed. “He's down by the riverfront, right?”

He moved for the door, but she rushed to actually stand in his way.

“Wait,” she commanded. “You need—”

“I have you on speed dial, thanks,” Savitar murmured, staring sleepily down at her. He brandished the comms attached to his lapel. “Not that I'll need your help. I give it ten minutes, tops.” He tried to shoulder past, but surprisingly, she would not be shouldered.

“Okay, first of all,” Caitlin grunted, holding up a warning finger, “I don't care how godlike you think you are; saving everyone at that EXPO—including the critically injured— _and_ stopping Mick Rory is not going to take ten minutes, tops.”

“Oooh!” Savitar's head reared. “Is that a challenge, Doctor Snow?”

“Secondly,” she went on, very obviously containing her own eye-roll, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, “you don't just need comms, you need a suit. A fireproof suit.”

Savitar glanced to the left. He glanced to the right. He pretended he needed to stand on tiptoes to look past her, craning his neck. “I don't see my suit anywhere,” he informed her, feigning apologetics. “Figures, I mean, I _thought_ I was forgetting something when we got here, but I guess I kind of zoned out, huh?”

Caitlin blinked. “Not that suit.”

She reached for the enormous duffel bag, one of two, that she kept underneath the main desk. Savitar had considered examining the contents, of course, before deciding he just didn't care. What could be in there for him? Nothing he didn't already have.

He was wrong, as it turned out. 

“Cisco had it made for you. Just in case.”

The hooded mask was bigger, the legs a little longer—he was a copy of Barry's older self, after all—and the bolts on the head were smaller. But other than that it was exactly the suit he remembered. The suit he used to just look at, making him giddy as a schoolboy two minutes before recess. He remembered the first time he'd worn it, the first time he'd gone for a run in it. The moment he could feel everything changing, something incredible coming into his life—the _Flash_. The Fastest Man Alive. Central City's guardian angel. When he wore that suit, everything made sense. He knew who he was and what he had to do and how good it would feel. People needed him in that suit, and he would always be there.

But that wasn't him anymore. Those weren't even _his_ memories. Savitar sized the suit up as Caitlin held it out to him.

“Mm hm.” He snorted a short laugh. “I'm not wearing that.”

Snow did not look daunted. She cocked her head at him, tantamount to an unimpressed _really_? Then she reached around the suit with one hand, pressing down on the lightning bolt symbol attached to its chest.

With the same affect a used paintbrush had in a cup of water, charcoal _black_ spread across the bright red and in seconds the suit was transformed. The yellow had become electric blue. 

“How about now?” Caitlin asked, barely containing her satisfaction.

Savitar looked away, shaking his head. Amused. He held up a finger to her. “One run.”

 

It wasn't like running in the Speed Force was something he grew nostalgic for, but there _was_ an absence of energy Savitar found distracting here, in the real world. Smells and sounds he didn't have to tune out in the Speed Force. Where the Force had taken his own mind and turned it inside-out, like a pocket, throwing everything he knew at him as he ran, this dimension had things he _wasn't_ used to. People he had never met he had to blur by. Shops in this Central City that weren't on Earth-1's. 

The Speed Force had been Hell, but at least he'd known what to expect.

Wearing the suit again disoriented him. He recognized its feeling, recognized the easy friction in the boots, the way it blocked the wind as he ran, the way it protected his ears and his eyes from the velocity. But though it felt correct on him, it was also like wearing someone else's tee shirt after ruining your own—it was comfortable, but he was painfully aware it wasn't his. Ramon had made it so that _he_ could wear it, yes—the problem was that the design was reminiscent of someone he wasn't. 

The black was cool, though.

A shrill voice pierced his right ear. “You missed it.”

Savitar slid to a stop. He was on the outskirts of downtown, in a subdivision. Cute little houses everywhere. He could hear someone playing Frisbee in a backyard somewhere, shoes crunching through dead autumn grass.

“What?” he puffed, hand to the comms.

Snow spoke louder, as if that were the problem. “You missed it!”

“I missed _what_?”

“The EXPO. You ran right by it.”

Savitar glanced around. “By how much?”

“You're about a mile awa—” _EEEEE_. Her words elevated into a high-pitched shriek; she was still too loud.

“Fantastic.” He hung his head back.

“Turn around and I'll tell you when—”

_EEEEEEEEE._

Savitar squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Hold the mic away from your mouth._ ”

“Sorry.” That was better.

“Stop talking.” He turned, tearing out of the subdivision, kicking up more than a few leaves in his wake.

The smell of smoke told him where to go. He hadn't noticed it before, lost in thought. The EXPO was in a large field on the riverfront, and there must have been about forty different booths and stands before Rory had torched them all. The entire field was ablaze, flames everywhere, clouds of black polluting the air. Screams and people running in all directions, more than one lifeless form strewn on the lawn.

“It's an engineering EXPO under attack from an arsonist.” There she was again. “There's going to be more than one pile of smoldering metal, probably a few stray pieces along the ground. Watch your step. Your suit is fireproof, but I don't know how much molten iron it can take before it burns through your boots. If your feet are injured, it could impair your speed, and your chances of getting everyone to safety will drop.”

“We'll see.” Savitar scanned the horizon. The smoke shielded everything. “Where's Rory?”

“It looks like the flames originated at the entrance behind you. Heat Wave created a path from there north. He must be near the end of the block by now.”

Savitar shot forward, eyes moving nearly as quickly as his legs, surveying the EXPO and the damage Rory had done. The smell made his eyes water. Rory couldn't have gotten too far away; stopping to boil everything in his path would've taken time.

“I see him,” he breathed into his comms.

“What is he doing?”

“Take a guess.”

Rory had his back to Savitar. Flames shot from his hands, burning the nearest booth. It was too late to tell what it had been, but Savitar did see, on the ground beneath a table that had been set aflame, a melting mass that might have once been an engine of some kind. 

Heat Wave was saying something, or maybe laughing, but the crackling and screaming drowned it out. 

“You have to be smart,” Caitlin told him. “The heat signatures on my monitors are magnified in one specific spot—that must be him. Savitar, with the temperature he's producing, if he so much as breathes in your direction—” She hesitated. “You'll basically burn until there isn't anything left to burn. I don't even know if he can turn it off, there's so much of it inside him.”

“Start your timer,” Savitar muttered. “Ten minutes.”

“This isn't—”

He stopped listening, taking off toward the river. He could hear Caitlin asking too many questions again, wondering why he was now moving in the opposite direction of the threat. He didn't waste time responding, stopping just at the water's edge. He'd need something to carry it in.

A dash for the remaining section of the EXPO Rory hadn't reached yet gave him his answer. Ignoring the people fleeing the area, he visited every stand until he found what he needed—a water cooler, the kind you'd bring to the beach on a hot day. Whoever owned the booth had planned on being here a while. Emptying its contents, Savitar took it back to the river, filling it in half a second and turning back in Rory's direction.

“What are you doing?” Caitlin demanded. “You're coming in and out of range!”

“He needs a bath.”

“If you get too close—”

He was already close. Savitar stopped behind Rory, turned the cooler over, and drenched him. Completely caught off guard—he hadn't even seen the speedster yet—Rory staggered, silver smoke pouring from every open part of his face. He made a choked sound, as if he wanted to scream, but he couldn't.

Within the space of three minutes, Savitar had done this same deed about twelve times. Rory was disoriented, and Savitar was moving too quickly for him to pinpoint precisely who was giving him a soaking. Maybe he thought it was a lot of rain. Savitar didn't remember him being too bright. Enjoying the look of total bewilderment on his opponent's face, the speedster decided that the cooler method was fun, but not fun enough.

He skidded to a halt in front of Rory at last, tossing the cooler to the side with both hands.

“What are you _doing_?” Caitlin repeated. Clearly she was unused to being out of the know when a speedster was on the job. Savitar was tempted to switch off the comms.

Rory spat water from his mouth. It was running down his hairless head, into his eyes, dripping from his fingers. There was a fine circle of soaked autumn grass at his feet. “What?” Heat Wave coughed out, more steam rising with every breath, looking the stranger up and down. It had to have been mystifying, an intruder dressed like _that_ suddenly appearing two feet away.

“Nice parlor trick.” Savitar whistled, long and low. “All that heat must make you thirsty, Rory.”

Heat Wave used a hand to wipe the water from his eyes, squinting. “You know my name?” he rasped out. So articulate.

Savitar had his collar in both fists before the meta could manage another gasp. “Let me get you a drink.”

In another heartbeat, they'd returned to the river. The wind from the run hadn't dried Rory out yet, but his shirt was warmer in Savitar's hands as he lifted him high above the pavement.

“Stop!” Caitlin commanded in his ear. “If you—”

Too late. Savitar threw Rory down into the water with the force of a rollercoaster cart halfway through the track. An enormous splash, and the meta's form disappeared into the shadows beneath the waves.

“Ten minutes,” Savitar grunted.

“How could you do that?” Caitlin was not impressed. In fact, she sounded angrier than ever. “You weren't even _thinking_!”

Savitar opened his mouth, but before he could respond, a massive light coming from the beneath the river's surface made him pause. The retort died in his throat as he realized his mistake. The water began to boil.

“You just threw a human volcano into the shallow end of a controlled body of water,” Caitlin was snarling. “What did you think would happen, he'd sizzle out like an ember?”

Savitar didn't answer—Rory had emerged from the river in an explosion of scalding liquid, a wave that showered the edge of the field. Savitar sped out of its range, mentally kicking himself. He _hadn't_ been thinking, Snow was right. It had felt too good to give someone a beating again. He hadn't focused. Now there was more work to do.

Heat Wave landed steadily on both feet, just a yard away from the speedster. He was grinning from ear to ear, and his skin tinged sunburn red.

“He's superheating himself,” Caitlin reported. “He's like a battery, his cells are charging him up, feeding his body's natural warmth. Drying out. He must have been too surprised to do it earlier—and now that he's had time to bottle it up, he's about explode!”

“You might be fast, freakshow,” Rory hissed, smoke coiling out of both nostrils like a Chinese dragon. “But that just means you'll burn quicker.”

Savitar grinned back. “Let's get started.”

A tunnel of flames shot toward him. The speedster dodged it with a jog to the left as easy as an average person's sidestep. Heat Wave kept it coming—tunnels of fire, actual fireballs, even skin-melting hot air. 

Savitar avoided it all, behind Rory, in front of him again, to his left, to his right, playing with him. Deadly quiet the entire time.

“Stand— _still_!” Heat Wave roared, breathing _blue_ flames in one long stroke, so quickly Savitar had to leap over the meta's head to escape it.

He landed behind Rory, who was breathing hard. Breath like gas, the villain turned to face his opponent once more, obviously winded.

Savitar's smile grew. “My turn.”

The first blow was in Rory's gut. The meta doubled over, and Savitar kicked his legs out from underneath him. Before Heat Wave could react, Savitar was on top of him, fist after fist colliding with his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth. Heat Wave twisted beneath the speedster, trying to land his own blows, and Savitar felt his whole body get dangerously hot. Rory clocked him once, twice, with fists like branding irons, but for every punch Savitar received, he dished out five more with arms that moved faster than Mick Rory could breathe.

The meta's skin returned to bright red, his eyes glazed over.

“He's doing it again!” Caitlin warned him. “You can only touch him for so long before he regains enough heat to wield against you! Get off him!”

Savitar sprang backward, wiping blood from his lip. He out-and-out panted, adrenaline taking his breath. He pressed two fingers to the comms. “You take all the fun out of fighting,” he grinned into the mic.

“Try to be a _little_ more humane.” Caitlin's voice was tight, controlled. “People might think _you're_ the villain.”

“We wouldn't want that, would we?” Savitar watched, flexing his fingers, as Rory picked himself up.

Shrieking suddenly, Caitlin snapped, “Back up! He's overwhelmed! His powers are reacting blindly to the pain— _move_!”

Savitar immediately flashed all the way to the other end of the field. From there, he watched as Heat Wave's body began to glow, a thick smell of sweat and smoke claiming a quarter of the oxygen in the area. Pure white fire burst from Rory's mouth, his eyes, his palms. He was like a tiny supernova, sucking the moisture from the grass and setting half the the block ablaze.

When the noise died down, Savitar narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the wall of fire. “Don't tell me he's still alive over there.”

“According to the sensors, he's making his getaway.”

“No he's not.”

Savitar took three steps back before plowing toward the other end of the field, feet pressing so hard into the ground that he kicked up inches of the turf in his wake. The Speed Force was surging through his limbs; he hadn't felt _this_ energized since he'd tossed Barry Allen through a wormhole. 

Rory wouldn't see him coming. He was storming across the last section of the EXPO, not pausing to destroy anything because his little explosion had done all the work for him. Savitar clenched his teeth, bracing for impact. 

“Wait!”

Savitar stopped so suddenly, he created a small crater. “ _What_ , Caitlin? What is it?”

“Turn around!”

“Why?”

“The news feed—the chopper is following you—”

Savitar rolled his eyes. “Are they getting my good side?”

“No—no, not that! I think I see—oh my god, over there, turn _around_ , turn around right now! There, by the fountain!”

Fountain? Savitar turned in a circle, finally spying the cherub-themed fountain a few feet away. Did she want him to use it to douse Rory? It was too late for that. He could take him down right now, no H20 necessary, if she would just _stop talking_.

His eyes landed on a writhing form at the foot of the fountain. A faint groan, something like a hollowed-out whimper, could be heard over the general panic. Savitar approached warily. He had gone after Heat Wave first, trusting the citizens to get themselves out of harm's way. Why was Snow just _now_ drawing his attention from the main attraction?

He understood when he reached the body.

“Wally,” he muttered, leaning over the kid.

“Oh no,” Caitlin whispered. She sounded sick.

It was indeed Wally West—his hair was thicker here than it was on Earth-1, but his mustard-colored jacket, his voice when he moaned, were very familiar. He was clutching his left hand, bleeding down the side of his head, ugly welts covering his neck and right cheek.

“How bad is he?” Snow's voice was trembling.

“Bad,” Savitar surmised, words clipped. “Mick did a number on him.”

“Is he—”

“Alive,” Savitar decided, checking the boy's pulse. “For now.”

“You have to bring him back here.”

Savitar stood up straight. “No. I'm going after Rory.”

“If you don't bring Wally to S.T.A.R. Labs for treatment, he'll die!”

“Then he dies,” Savitar snapped. “You want me to let the bad guy go just to save one life?”

“ _Yes_! Always.” The trembling had disappeared. “It doesn't matter whose life it is, it doesn't matter how far gone they are, you _always_ try.”

Savitar let out a long breath. Watching Wally slipping in and out consciousness below him. The hem of West's jacket was smoldering; his eyes were squeezed shut.

“Fine,” Savitar muttered. “One third-degree-burn patient, coming your way.”


	9. An Uncommon Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin doesn't want to face what it might take to help save Earth-66's Wally West.

**(I know it's short, don't give me that look. -Doverstar)**

 

It was maddening to see Wally this way. Body spasming with pain, rewritten with burns. Stress clogged her lungs. At least on Earth-1, Caitlin would have had her friends around her to give her support as she did her job, as she tried to heal him, but here, she was alone. All she had was Savitar—and he wasn't much help. He stood on the opposite side of the examination table, suit's hood down, staring at nothing while she worked.

“I've given him a sedative,” Caitlin murmured, “but it won't take affect for another ten minutes at least. He's barely conscious as it is.”

Savitar, of course, did not answer her. That was fine. She didn't need someone to respond; she often spoke aloud during a procedure. It helped her focus, take stock of everything she was doing.

“The good news is, he isn't a speedster on this Earth, so any medicine I give him won't be burned through by his metabolism.” 

A very throaty groan from her patient echoed throughout the Cortex.

“Sorry,” Caitlin told him, though she knew he wouldn't have heard. “Poor choice of words.”

She heard Savitar shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “I'm guessing this is going to take more than the usual ointment and lollipop treatment.” He didn't sound sympathetic, as usual, but at least she wasn't the only one talking unnecessarily. 

“I don't have the equipment for a skin graft,” Caitlin fretted, moving to clean the blood from Wally's cheek. “And I don't know how much blood he's already lost—the scanner indicates that something pierced his lower back before you found him. But if I don't take care of these burns first, he won't be able to keep still, and I can't stabilize the back wound if he doesn't. Hang in there, Wally.” She heard her own tone—it was loud, but calm. She didn't feel calm. She felt useless. She hadn't been expecting someone would need so many tools so quickly into her time here on Earth-66, let alone that it would be Wally who needed them.

Wally's breathing had become ragged, and Caitlin tried not to completely fall apart at the sound, wondering if he was short of breath from the sedatives, or if she was losing him already.

“The solution is simple.” Savitar spoke as if she were much younger than she was, shrugging a shoulder.

Caitlin turned a desperate gaze his way. “Simple?”

He reached across Wally's shuddering form and held the snowflake pendant on the end of her necklace. Caitlin jerked backward, not allowing him to touch it even for a full second.

Savitar looked impatient. “You can heal those burns, heal _all_ of him, if you use your—”

Caitlin gave him her coldest warning look yet. “I am _not_ taking this off again.”

Savitar raised his eyebrows. “You want him to die?”

“I know what you're doing,” Caitlin informed him, voice low.

“You know I'm _right_ ,” he countered, not backing down. “You want to save him, there's your answer. Easy. Too scared to try it, fine, let him die, but don't say I didn't warn you. You have a patient suffering from burns, you have cold powers, and you're telling me you're not gonna use them?”

“No!” Caitlin's worry took her voice and amplified it with every word; she was shouting soon enough. “No, I'm not. Stop it! _Stop_ trying to turn me into Killer Frost!” She slammed a hand down on the tool cart beside her.

In the midst of the tension, the nerves making the Cortex emptier, Savitar's shoulders shook with mirth. “That's _cold_. You think I want you to be Killer Frost?”

Caitlin didn't answer, searching his eyes. Of _course_ he wanted it. The light from her pendant seemed brighter, pulsing against the fist closed around it. H.R. and Cisco used to gather the team to play a game of Body Body in S.T.A.R. Labs at night every once in a while. They said it was for morale. She remembered losing every round, almost always the first to be sent to 'the graveyard', because her friends could see her necklace glowing in the dark. Iris had offered her scarf to fix the problem, and Caitlin had actually won once or twice as a result. She had refused to remove the necklace, of course, and even though the game was harder to play because of it, Caitlin had always been fond of the light it gave off. It was comforting, it reminded her that the trinket was a comfort, not a burden. The only thing keeping her in control. 

And Barry Allen's sneering copy wanted her to abandon it. She could think of a thousand reasons why, none of them very flattering. And frankly, she didn't have time for his games.

“ _You_ want to be Killer Frost.” Savitar let the words sink in, and Caitlin swallowed. “The only person who ever actually separated you from that thing,” he went on, pointing to the pendant, “was _you_. Not me. You chose to take it off that night.”

“Because you tricked me,” Caitlin protested through gritted teeth. Another thrash from Wally and she reached for the anesthetic, forcing him to swallow it and trying to ignore Savitar's eyes on her.

Savitar scoffed. “It didn't take much, did it?”

If looks could kill.

“Bottom line is, whether you like it or not, Killer Frost is part of you. And you can either let it overpower you, or _you_ can take control.” Savitar raised his chin, pulling an arm out of its fold to point at her, a challenge in his green eye. “Good. Evil. It's up to you. Your powers are whatever you _choose_ for them to be.”

Caitlin knew she was staring. She shouldn't be staring. It wasn't polite. She couldn't help it. She suddenly could not tell who was standing across from her anymore. It wasn't the poison-tongued time remnant. It wasn't golden Barry Allen. But it sounded so much like him, her heart skipped a beat. 

“Pretty speech,” she managed, still staring, unmoving.

Savitar's head shook, a little snort of a laugh escaping him. “Don't get used to it.” 

There was a moment of silence, Caitlin looking down at her necklace, unaware that the man who was not the Flash was taking a turn staring. Calculating. Measuring.

“Not like it wouldn't be easier to just let him die,” Savitar added suddenly, voice wood once more. “But I'm not the doctor here, so.”

Caitlin exhaled, the moment forgotten. “No. You're not.”

Then she ripped off her necklace.

Savitar noticed her eyes flicker—brown, white, brown, white. She heard Frost's laugh in her ears, felt every negative emotion well up in her chest, all her worst qualities swarming her throat and her heart. She looked down at Wally and for a moment, there was no pity for him. All she felt was cold. Contempt, then indifference. Why should he live again? Why should she do anything to save him? He wasn't a speedster here. He was barely even an adult. His existence made no mark in the universe, and did nothing for her. Suddenly she just couldn't see the point.

She glanced up at the Flash's disposable copy, admiring his scars. But confusion still furrowed her brow. Everything was grayer, the edges of her vision were so sharp they were practically grainy. Wally lay in agony on the gurney. Her hands were overflowing with frigid air. What should happen next? Why couldn't she think properly?

Pulling out of the fog in her mind, she eventually whipped out, “I don't have to help him.” Her voice was winter wind, designed to put a tingle in between fingers and raise the hairs on the back of necks.

“Well.” Savitar's arms were back to being crossed. His eyebrows jumped. The right corner of his mouth turned up. “You're not wrong.”

“I don't want to.”

Savitar's head went on one side. He didn't say anything, didn't give her any orders. He didn't even look displeased. She needed direction, someone to tell her what to do now. Why was everything so sharp, it was like she was looking through a high-quality microscope. Somehow that it made it harder to see. She didn't like his silence. She didn't like the air in here. She didn't like the color of West's jacket. Everything was too loud.

Why was she here? Why shouldn't she just leave? Didn't she have better things to do than to look after Caitlin Snow's scarred pet reject and the stray they'd dragged in?

Savitar was eyeing the blood running from Wally's cheek onto his neck, the way his hand tried to grasp at the mattress as if the feeling of touching something would take away the feeling of his skin boiling off. The ends of the God of Speed's dark hair were hard with sweat from his little fight with Rory.

His one green eye caught her examining him, and Caitlin Snow shoved Killer Frost to the side, as hard as she could.

The sharpness around her vision died a little. Caitlin's hands shook; she felt Frost trying to regain control. There was an awful sense of fragility in her every breath. If she slipped, if she slipped just a little, she'd be gone forever and someone with white hair and icy intentions would take over.

Killer Frost was throwing everything at her. Trying to make her lose focus, look on the dark side. She stared, shaking, at Wally and saw lost causes. It was Wally one moment, Ronnie the next. It could've been Zoom in Savitar's place. Wally's breathing sounded like Caitlin's father, weak in that hospital bed her mother couldn't free him from. Caitlin swore she heard H.R.'s drumsticks tapping somewhere behind her.

 _H.R._ H.R. and Cisco arguing. She could hear them. Iris and Jesse, in the chairs by the white desk, admiring Iris' engagement ring. The light coming off the jewel. Joe strolling through the entrance archway, mid-conversation on his cell phone, the smell of coffee coming in with him. Julian ordering Cisco to keep it down, glued to the glass demonstration board off to the left, she could hear the marker squeaking across its surface. Dr. Wells in his wheelchair on the dais, adjusting his glasses to see the latest readings from Barry's treadmill.

 _Barry_ , Barry grinning in the corner, Barry opening the glass case to retrieve his suit, Barry downing a Big Belly Burger, Barry pulling on his S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt, Barry laughing, Barry calling her name from the across the room...

They were all there with her, just for a second. The room was brighter, the colors were stronger.

She knew what she was doing. She was a physician, a bio-engineer. She wanted to make things better. She wanted to make Wally better, and she could do it, too. She had it in her. She'd proven it before. They'd shown her.

Before Frost had time to tug her hair, Caitlin laid her hands on Wally's burns, focusing all her energy on one repeated thought: _Fix him, I want to help. I want to help._

The cold turned Wally's singed skin blue. Then it was silver, then it was pale brown. And the burns on his face were nothing but a yellowish stain. It crept to the wound making his cheek bleed, sewing it up in the patterns you could find on windowsills in a snowstorm. The blood froze and dried, red to burgundy. 

She moved to his arms, his neck, his chest. Whenever the blue tried to stay, Caitlin inhaled, reigning it in, trying to ignore the way Wally shuddered underneath her arctic touch.

Caitlin turned him over with some difficulty, lifting up his jacket and shirt, steely at the sight of the deep gash down his lower back. _We might be able to do something about that little cut._ She couldn't tell if it was Snow or Frost snarking in her head. It didn't matter. She would give it her best shot.

At first, Wally's body arched, trying to pull away from her. He let out a cry that made her eyes sting, but she kept working. The blue lingered a little too long this time, and Wally's breath began to cloud in the air. Caitlin counted to ten, not daring to close her eyes; she needed them for this procedure. The cold was in her toes, her fingernails, her spine. She couldn't let it infect her friend, but she had to allow it to take up residence with him, just for now. Just a trickle, to save him. To mend the wound, stitch it up, and it really started to, just the way she envisioned it doing as she pushed more and more of the frost out.

Ice didn't have healing abilities. It could delay the inevitable for a while, if it was actually cold enough, if there was the right amount of it. But Caitlin's abilities were more than just snowy superpowers. Savitar had been right, they were _part_ of her. They were in her DNA, her bloodstream, her genetic makeup was tainted. They would do as she bade them, if she was in control. If she kept the bite of winter from turning her into someone she wasn't.

Caitlin Snow was a healer. So the ice went in to heal.

After a few more minutes, Wally stopped writhing. He stopped screaming, he stopped doing just about everything except breathing. He seemed exhausted, but no longer in pain. As Caitlin turned him over one last time, trying to put him in the healthiest position to rest. He was shivering, and she pulled the sole blanket up to his chin, reaching for her necklace.

After she tightened the clasp, Caitlin remembered she wasn't the only person standing in the room. Savitar couldn't hold a candle to her warm Team Flash vision, but she found he wasn't an entirely unwelcome sight, either. _This_ time.

He was watching Wally's chest, the rise and fall of it, not looking back at her at all.

But when he spoke, it wasn't to their guest. “Hi there, Doctor Snow.” 

He said her name, her real name, slowly, very intentionally. His voice was hoarse and neutral as usual, but something was missing in it. His head came up, eyes glittering. Barry's mouth twitching, Barry's right eyebrow raised just so.

It was because she was relieved to be in her own mind. It was because Wally was going to be okay. It was because she was suddenly struck with the fact that the man standing on the other side of Wally's bed—the man with so much weight in his memories and the same smell as her best friend—had surprised her. He'd been doing that a lot in the past few days. Why hadn't she noticed until now? She hadn't been prepared. Ironic as it was, the unexpected was suddenly very familiar to her.

That was why she smiled at him. She just beamed right at him. 

Of course, he had the clarity of mind to look as if she had just slugged him across the good half of his face, which made it very worth it to let loose like that for a second.

Then there was a gasp in between them, and Caitlin started, hands gripping the metal frame of the examination table. Savitar pulled the hood of his suit back on.

“He's up,” she blurted instinctually, turning to grab her stethoscope. The last traces of contrasting cold must've shocked his brain into red flag mode at last.

Wally's eyes were open, his shoulders tense. He was heaving for breath. His eyelids fluttered; Caitlin's sedative was finally taking hold. He rasped out, focusing wearily on her, “Where'm I?”

“You're—” Her first notion was to say _back at S.T.A.R. Labs_ , but she got the feeling that would be too confusing right before he fell asleep. “You're safe, don't worry.”

“This guy—” Wally coughed, eyes watering. “Guy blew up...he came to my booth, he, he...”

“It's all over now,” Caitlin promised, shushing him gently. “He can't hurt you.”

Wally let her push him back down as he struggled to sit up. His hand found her wrist. “You pull me out?” he managed, clearly trying very hard to stay awake _and_ speak coherently. But his body had just been through too much too quickly.

“No—no, I—it wasn't me,” Caitlin cleared her throat. “Sorry. It was...someone else.”

“Someone else?” Wally's head swiveled aimlessly around. His voice cracked. His eyes were bloodshot.

“He's right here.” Caitlin went around the table, taking Savitar's hand, tugging him into the frantic college student's eyeline. Savitar's hand was colder than hers ever had been; she could actually feel it through his suit's gloves. He pulled it away as if he were holding the wrong end of a match, but at least he didn't move after she'd led him over.

Wally did not seem disturbed by the scars just visible beneath Savitar's strange mask. Probably the sedative. Instead of asking any more questions, he looked the speedster in the eyes, coughed one more time, and choked out, “Thank you,” before dropping off. His hold on Caitlin's wrist went limp as he fell into an artificial sleep.

Caitlin risked a glance at the meta in the black and blue costume. Savitar seemed to be made of dry clay; if you so much as poked him, he could've cracked and crumbled into dust. She saw his eyes, even the milky one, go so soft he was almost Barry again, right there in that second. His palms closed and opened again. It was as if Wally had knocked the wind out of him.

Barry's words came back to Caitlin. _You have to remind him what that feels like. Helping people._

He was feeling it now. When was the last time someone had thanked him? When was the last time he'd saved a life, instead of being so focused on his own?

Savitar turned to look at her very suddenly, as if just remembering she was there. When he did see her, the softness got strained. If she pretended for the moment that they were still eyes she knew, she might've thought he was trying to convince himself she was actually standing there.

“Hi, Flash,” Caitlin murmured, finally answering him. The smile hadn't gone anywhere.


	10. Patchwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Savitar's budding hero act on Earth-66 is not without faults, and Caitlin has her work cut out for her.

Finding Mick Rory had become their main focus.

  
Caitlin didn't know when they had switched from _let's get you settled in_ to _bring the pyro to justice,_ but though it proved more difficult than their original plan, she wasn't at all against it. Heat Wave was out there hurting the innocent, seemingly without cause, and if they had the ability to stop him, she held fast to the belief that it was their responsibility to do so.   
  
She wasn't sure if Savitar shared her belief, but if not, it didn't stop him. In fact, he treated this manhunt like a game of sorts—running around the city, searching for clues to Rory's whereabouts, and in between, he'd stop to do your basic hero work wherever he saw the need. Cisco would say he was working his way up, level by level, to get to the big boss fight at the end. His _one run_ had turned into many more since saving Wally. He went out and fought crime every day, whenever he was free—and as he was an unemployed former psychopath, he was always free. Though he refused to give himself any kind of title, he donned the suit and threw himself into the task of tracking down Heat Wave and stopping any additional perpetrators on the way. 

Caitlin was baffled at first. She couldn't understand how his mind had shifted from adamant indifference to resigned, almost bored selflessness. The way he treated his sort-of-hero career was similar to the way Harry Wells had treated the “sub-par” tech of Earth-1—he'd tolerate it, wouldn't fudge the job, but in the end it wasn't anything to get excited about. So she didn't know why he kept it up. Not that she was complaining—this was one of the things she'd speculated could be the key to giving him that coveted second chance.  
  
But as one week on Earth-66 turned into two and a half, she realized Savitar wasn't simply doing this because there wasn't a better option. He _had_ a motive. It was unclear what that motive was, but it was there, and that alone was encouraging. She could tell by the way he was carrying himself lately. His hands were free of his pockets, his head was held just an inch or so higher. He didn't avoid eye contact quite as much. Caitlin wanted to believe it was the Barry buried in him, enjoying the sense of purpose. Somehow, though, that didn't quite fit.

Whatever the reason, there was no harm in letting him do a few good deeds around the city. This Earth could use it.   
  
Unfortunately, he really _was_ rusty. His skills, his abilities, were fine—almost perfect. It was his head that needed work. Barry Allen had jumped in without thinking multiple times in his early years, and still did sometimes, but Savitar was worse. Because not only did he not think about what he was doing; he seemed unwilling to learn how to be better. He just screwed up and impatiently dealt with the consequences.  
  
A car spinning out of control? He got the people out of the vehicle, but neglected to stop said vehicle before it crashed into the nearest building, sparks and bricks and general unpleasant smells flying. A mugger in an alley? The perpetrator was on the ground before he knew what had happened, but Savitar didn't take the time to check for weapons and the offender had landed on the wrong end of the pocketknife he'd been brandishing. You name it—things that should have been so simple turned into an actual ordeal, just because the speedster had ignored common sense, logic, hadn't taken orders from anyone or helped any situation in too long, and now he was a sloppy hero.

  
And if he wasn't thinking too little, he was thinking too _much_. Savitar had turned Barry's scientific mind into an excellent map of strategy and cunning. He was used to obstacles, complicated schemes. There were few things more frustrating to Doctor Snow than the days he paused to plan when he could've gotten the job done in five minutes flat. Caitlin was constantly trying to help him to improve, dishing out suggestions, talking it through, but he simply wasn't having it. Sometimes he even switched off his comms, leaving her to watch his moves from the tracker on his suit, powerless in the Cortex until he got back to S.T.A.R. Labs so she could scold him. Which of course he completely ignored. She preferred the ignoring to the biting contempt, though, so she couldn't complain too much.  
  
Today Caitlin had heard, after tapping into a police radio band, that a pair of robbers were escaping into the parking garage of this Earth's most prestigious jewelry company. She'd sent Savitar to stop them; he'd been halfway to Earth-66's version of Keystone before she'd called and he had to turn around.  
  
“They're on the fifth floor,” she told him, murmuring. Wally, still recovering, was asleep in the gurney up on the dais, and she didn't want to wake him.   
  
Savitar didn't respond, but she saw his signature on the monitor slow when it came to the fourth floor, though he seemed obligated to speed right past it moments before.   
  
“One is thicker-set than the other—his muscle count isn't very high, so it must be excess weight. He'll go down harder, but he'll be easiest to catch,” Caitlin added, peering at the readings. Robbers were pretty average; she was grasping at straws, eager to help. She missed working with Barry on his missions more than she thought she would. “Try not to damage what they've taken. With a company like that, odds are whatever it is, it's invaluable.” She paused. “They don't...have it in some kind of sack, do they?”  
  
“Why does it matter?” came the thudding reply.  
  
“It doesn't,” Caitlin said quickly, feeling foolish. “I just—as a kid, I used to watch cartoons where jewel thieves would put...the—it doesn't matter.” She cleared her throat and smoothed her blouse. “' _Hem_ , keep running.”  
  
She could see his marker coming closer to the two making their way to the elevator. Savitar made a nice, clean stop right in front of them. Unlike her Barry, he didn't often make quips when encountering baddies, he simply waited for them to pick the fight. He was never disappointed in the amount of time it took for someone to start panicking.  
  
These two gentlemen were apparently the sort to ask curious questions, which was a nice change of pace.

“What are you supposed to be?” Caitlin could hear one of the criminals' voice spiraling high with amusement. He sounded less seedy than she expected a felon to sound. There was even a hint of a Southern accent.  
  
“A god,” Savitar replied, as casually as if he were making small talk in line at Subway. His vocal cords vibrated, distorting his tone. “But something came up.”  
  
The time remnant was _not_ the sort to ask curious questions, and he bored easy. Caitlin watched Savitar's little green dot on the screen dart toward the red ones that represented the robbers, in and out, in and out.  
  
There was too much noise, too many grunts and groans. Feeling her stomach twist, Caitlin decided to use a little trick Cisco taught her. With a combination of keys and a click or two, she hacked into the parking garage's security cameras, hitting the right-hand arrow until the screen gave her the right floor.

The image was grainy, but the cameras were far away enough that she could distinguish what was what without trouble. 

Caitlin gasped. One robber was already on the ground, clutching his chest and making an especially horrific rattling sound when he inhaled. Savitar had the other one on the run; clutching a duffel bag—not a sack—the overweight blonde man was scrambling for the elevator, which looked to be about five feet from him at this point. 

Savitar was in his path in a blink, and the robber ran smack into him. The speedster moved without any hesitation, first clouting him underneath the chin, and when his opponent didn't fall down, Savitar reached down and gripped the handle of the duffel bag, using it to swing the man off his feet and across the garage at high speed. There was a crunch when he landed; she recognized the sound of broken bones and tasted her breakfast.

“What do you think you're doing?” Caitlin snarled into the mic. The tail of every word was barbed, as if she had released a mouthful of stingrays.  
  
Savitar, still holding the duffel bag in one hand, reached to switch off his comms with the other.

“You cannot just ravage the people you stop,” Snow went on rapidly, before he could do it. “That's not the way this job works, Savitar.” She hadn't always checked to see _how_ he physically dealt with the ne'er-do-wells. Maybe she should have. How many more had suffered a penalty that didn't fit the crime before she'd seen him do _this_?  
  
“Don't try to tell me they don't deserve it.” His posture onscreen was so steady, his tone so saturated in scorn, as if her answer wouldn't make any difference to him anyway, that it made Caitlin's teeth hurt.

“ _You_ deserved to be wiped from existence, and look where you ended up thanks to people who know how important it is to have mercy,” Caitlin countered, trying and immediately failing to control the amount of venom spewing from her. It didn't matter who it was, it didn't matter how it happened, nothing could make her angrier than senseless violence, the defacing of human value. “ _How_ you do things matters just as much, if not more, than _what_ you do.”

Savitar slid the strap of the duffel bag across his shoulder, allowing the first robber to struggle to his feet, still breathing oddly.  
  
Caitlin took a deep breath. _One...two...three..._ “You got the jewels back. Just—drop them off and move on to the next crime. Please.”   
  
When she saw him turn his back to the wounded crooks, she let the breath out in relief, switching off the security feed and scanning the city for further disruptions.  
  
Then the sound of a gunshot rang through the speaker.  
  
Caitlin snatched the mic. “Savitar?”

There was a pause, and she glanced guiltily at Wally, who still hadn't stirred. She'd spoken too loudly that time, but he didn't seem to have heard her, sound asleep.

Finally, a dull “Didn't know they had a gun,” crackled out from the other end of the comms and Caitlin closed her eyes. This never got less stressful.  
  
“Are you—”  
  
“I'm fine.” He never let her get a full _are you okay_ into the air on these missions, though the opportunity to ask had presented itself plenty of times since he'd first donned the black and blue. She didn't know why, and it didn't stop her from trying to get it out anyway.“Bullets are slow. Just grazed me.”  
  
Caitlin dropped down into her chair, palms clammy. He was intensely _not_ Barry Allen, but when she didn't have the video feed, the sight of the scars and the cloudy left eye, only exposed to his voice, she couldn't stop herself fretting when he was on the field. It was difficult to listen to someone with Barry's tones when they never seemed to be in a good mood, but that was multiplied by at least eighty percent when there was danger in the area.  
  
A rustle sounded from the right of the Cortex. Wally was awake, rolling onto his back, blinking around the room.  
  
Caitlin was eager to return to a situation she could control—the progress of a patient. She headed for the ointment she'd picked up a few days back, soaking it in a rag and starting on his arms.   
  
“How did you sleep?” she checked, forcing a smile.  
  
Wally nodded, as if that gave her all the detail she needed. Since he'd arrived and regained consciousness, he was fond of asking as many questions as he could possibly ask in one breath. He was ridiculously curious about his predicament, and Caitlin had had a tough time fielding his inquiries, trying to make sure he didn't know too much. Suffice it to say, he knew he was at S.T.A.R. Labs, which she and “a few colleagues” had taken upon themselves to restore from the ground up. He knew this was a top secret deal, kind of like “an underground charity project”, and had agreed reluctantly not to probe further. He knew she worked with his rescuer, but he didn't know Savitar's name and hadn't seen him since the rescue had taken place. He knew she was Caitlin Snow and she was there to help, and that he would be good as knew in just a few more days. Sometimes this was enough information for him. Most of the time it wasn't.  
  
“Hey Caitlin?” Wally's throat sounded dry; he reached for the glass of water she offered him. “How long was the longest time you spent in a hospital?”  
  
“About four hours,” Caitlin admitted, cocking her head. “I was nine. I had a broken wrist and the waiting room was full. Why?”  
  
“Cuz it's literally the most mind-numbing thing I can think of right now,” Wally groaned, pressing the heel of a hand against his closed right eye.  
  
Caitlin chuckled. “That's the price we pay when we're in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Satisfied his arms were thoroughly treated, she moved to his legs. “What were you doing at the EXPO, anyway? You said you had a booth there?”  
  
Wally's fingers traced the fragile, healing skin on his right cheek. “I work with this new engineering company. We're trying to get off the ground—my boss thought the EXPO was kinda like the best way to get our foot in the door.”

“The other day you told me you work with cars,” Caitlin recalled, careful about what she revealed. Really, she knew Wally West's tendencies, his interests, but _this_ Wally had not shared much of anything with her, and if she made one wrong move, he might start asking the kinds of questions she _couldn't_ wave off.  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“Is that...is that the only thing you dabble in? I mean, mechanically?”  
  
Wally chortled, probably at her choice in vocabulary usage. He did that a lot back on Earth-1. “Uh, no—no, I mess with all kinds of stuff. Mechanically. I like finding out what makes stuff tick, you know?”  
  
“I do,” Caitlin grinned at him. “But I doubt the chemical makeup of the human body is as interesting to you as it is to me. I know it can be boring, resting up...” She moved to the white desk, turning on the wall monitors that were facing him. “So it's a good thing we have TV here, huh?”

But Wally shushed her suddenly, waving a hand for her to come back to his bedside, eyes on the screen. Caitlin complied, eyebrows knit, wondering what was so important.

Sandra Peterson was at it again. “ _Does Central City have its own guardian angel?  Rumors of a masked vigilante continue to pop up all over the downtown area as witnesses trade stories of returned belongings, rescues in the dark, and a mystery blur speeding by. There are no known photographs of this rising phenomenon, but it's clear that it isn't just a few overactive imaginations. Security guards at the Central City museum report seeing a blue-flecked 'shadow' in the building just three nights ago as convicted amateur thief Leonard Snart attempted to steal a priceless painting._ ”  
  
The camera flicked to footage of one of the night guards, in full uniform, gesturing with both hands as the museum's patrols filed by in the background. “ _I say to my partner, I tell him, 'Call the department, tell 'em Snart's back for more,' and I look away, and when I look again there's this—there's the shadow, and Snart's on the ground, all tied up and ready for prison. And then it's gone, shadow's disappeared again. It was unbelievable._ ”  
  
A moment more and Sandra had returned to the spotlight with a different story. Wally turned excitedly to Caitlin, slapping the bed with his right hand. “That was him, wasn't it?”  
  
Caitlin bit her lip. “Who?”  
  
“The shadow! The dude who pulled me out at the EXPO. He was there at the museum, he's here in town still.”  
  
“He is,” she confessed, handing him a cup of strawberry Jell-O and a plastic spoon. She avoided eye contact, but he didn't take the hint.  
  
“He's a hero, Caitlin. He saved my life.”  
  
“I know he did,” she assured him, smiling. “And you're right, he—he's definitely on the right _track_ —”  
  
“You know who he is.” Wally didn't touch his Jell-O, round brown eyes burning into her.  
  
“I—I wouldn't—”

“I wanna thank him.”  
  
“You already thanked him, Wally.”  
  
“I know,” Wally scoffed, agitated. His hand went to massage his forehead. “But—for real this time. I was all jacked up on pain meds then, I-I can't even remember what he looked like. I gotta see him.”  
  
Caitlin sighed. “I told you, he doesn't want that.” Wally's mouth tightened, he tried to say something more, but Caitlin persisted. “He's—he's in a difficult place right now. When he _does_ visit you...he'll need to do it on his own time.” She rubbed Wally's shoulder, the way she'd seen Iris do multiple times back home. She felt him relax at the touch instinctively. “Eat your Jell-O.”  
  
“It's not like it's good for me.”  
  
“It is when I mixed it with your medicine,” Caitlin retorted, walking back down to the main floor of the Cortex. “Eat!”  
  
The next stop was her quarters. It was a simple metal room with two standard, iron-framed beds and one window. This sort of place was made to accommodate employees of the Labs who had to pull an all-nighter working on a project, or those who had to monitor an experiment for a full 24 hours. Caitlin went to change clothes, pulling out her multidimensional walkie talkie. She wanted her friends.

 “Calling Team Flash,” she chanted amiably into the bluetooth speaker, clipping it to her ear. “Come in, Team Flash.”  
  
Static. Then, “Caitlin?”  
  
“Joe!” Caitlin grinned. “How are you?”  
  
“I don't—know—how to patch this thing through to the whole room, hon, gimme—”  
  
“I got it. Here.” There was Barry. The frozen autumn sunlight coming from the window shone brighter.

“Can you hear me?” Caitlin tested, pulling on her silver, cotton-knit sweater and slacks. It felt good to kick off her high heels.  
  
“Loud and clear!” Cisco sounded distracted; his voice was coming from somewhere far away from the walkie talkie.  
  
“How's it going over there?” Barry demanded. His voice was raspy. “You find Savitar a Team Flash of his own yet?”  
  
“Not quite,” Caitlin sighed. “The good news is, he's improving on the field flying solo. But—he seems—Barry, he's _aggressive_ with the people he catches.” She hadn't realized how much the earlier confrontation had shaken her until that moment. Somehow, knowing Barry was on the other line made it all easier to acknowledge. “It's like he thinks it's his job to _punish_ them, not just bring them to justice.”

Barry was quiet for a moment. “He can't just turn off the villain thing right away, Cait,” he murmured.  
  
“That doesn't give him an excuse to beat the crap outta any perp he feels like,” Joe argued, and Caitlin's hands wrung together.

“I know, I know,” Barry huffed. “But you can't forget what he was like before. Where he comes from. It's not like all that's gonna disappear in two weeks.”  
  
“It's like he's a druggie.” Cisco was chortling in that corner he must've been working in. “Maybe he needs some group therapy.”  
  
“Not helping.” Iris had entered the fray; Caitlin heard her heels clicking on the floor. “Hey, Caitlin.”  
  
“Hi, Iris.” Caitlin exited her room, moving down the corridors. “Oh—I forgot to mention—this Earth's Wally is nearly fully recovered,” she reported proudly. “He should be headed home any day now.”  
  
“That's a relief,” Iris sighed. “Has he seen Savitar yet?”  
  
“Not yet, but he's dropping hints. I just don't think it's such—”

 A sound, a puffing like a locomotive further down the hall, made Caitlin stop dead.   
  
“Cait? What's wrong?” Trust Barry to read her mind all the way from another Earth.

 Caitlin prowled forward, cautious, turning a corner. What she saw made her fingernails grow cold. “I—I have to go.”  
  
“Cait—”  
  
“It's okay, I have to—I'll call you back.”   
  
She ripped the bluetooth speaker off, stuffing it into her pocket and rushing forward ten feet, toward the east wall. Savitar was still in his suit, hood down, coiled in a sitting position against the aforementioned wall and breathing with great effort. His right shoulder was caked in blood, his hair soaked in sweat.  
  
“What did you _do_?” Caitlin gasped, kneeling beside him.  
  
Savitar backhanded her arm away as she reached for his suit's zipper. “I'm fine,” he croaked. “I heal quick.”  
  
Age-old anger swelled in her throat as she stared at the red spreading down from the shoulder to his chest. “You said that bullet _grazed_ you!”  
  
“I lied.” He clutched his shoulder with his left hand, eyes shut tight. “Not like that's a new thing.”  
  
“You do not lie to your personal physician about bullets,” Caitlin snapped, moving to unzip the suit again.  
  
And again he jerked out of reach. “You're _Barry's_ personal physician,” he spat at her through gritted teeth. His legs wound across the floor with the pain, curling in toward his body and out again as if he were pedaling an imaginary bicycle.  “You and _I_ don't have a contract.”

“Remind me to write one up after I donate the last of your blood to the nearest laboratory,” Caitlin grunted, trying to heave him to his feet.

 A short, breathless laugh hissed out of him at that. His head rolled against the wall, he sucked in through his nose.   
  
But the moment she put both hands on his right arm, trying to pull him up, he wrenched it from her grasp, unnecessarily using his speed so that she felt a jolt of electricity run across her wrists.

“I need some space,” he growled, agonized spaces between the words, face just a hair from hers as she crouched beside him. His scars looked angrier than ever.  
  
At first his malevolence—and her indignancy at both not being warned and not being allowed to treat him—was enough to keep Caitlin from trying again for the moment. She stared at him, brain struggling to catch up after Barry's voice had just told her to keep her distance.  
  
Then, because she was herself, she got over it and grabbed his hand, taking him by surprise for the second it took to yank him forcibly into a standing position. The only reason he 'needed some space'—apart from the fact that he was _him_ self—was because he was operating under the same knee-jerk reaction everyone had when experiencing extreme pain while someone tried to touch them. His brain told him that anything else _touching_ him would cause more pain; he felt suffocated when another human being got too close. It was akin to that primal feeling that surged through wounded, cornered animals. Caitlin wasn't interested in his snarls.  
  
Savitar half-yelled, half-groaned for a short moment at the sudden movement, but this time he didn't pull away. Instead, he glared at her, still talking viciously through determinedly clenched teeth. “I don't need you to patch me up every time I break something.”  
  
“Tough!” Caitlin's eyebrows bounced, once, and she led him to the med bay—not to be confused with Wally's corner of the Cortex. “You don't have another option.”

She let go as he dropped onto the examination table, gripping the side of the bed hard enough to make a dent in the metal.  
  
“I don't _care_ if you heal quickly,” Caitlin snapped, gathering her tools. “And—I don't care if you still think you're god enough to live through losing eighty-five percent of the blood in your body. You're not. You get shot, you get medical attention.” She brandished her pair of forceps. “That's how this job works.”  
  
“That's...cute.” Savitar choked out. He didn't move when she unzipped his suit just enough to uncover his injured shoulder. His eyes were shut once more. “You sure know...a lot about this job...for someone who's never—” he broke off, yelling again as she went in to find the bullet. 

“Run as fast as you?” Caitlin finished for him, eyes completely focused on her task. “I wasn't talking about _your_ job.”  
  
She worked steadily, knowing she didn't need to remind him that pain medication was useless on a speedster. Her heart was convulsing in her chest, but not because of the procedure. This wasn't her first bullet. It wasn't the first time she'd smelled this much blood. It wasn't even the first time she'd treated a _shoulder_ gunshot wound.   
  
Her heart was convulsing because of who she was treating.

She didn't harbor any not-so-far-fetched fantasies that Savitar would suddenly regain the all the strength and ice he'd had on Infantino Street. She didn't think he'd pulverize her the way he had those criminals after this was all over, just because she hadn't given the God of Speed his space. She knew that particular part of him had been weakened by now, because of the way his story had changed. Somehow. If she could believe it fully. Did she?   
  
It wasn't any of that. No. No, really, no, it was because she was on his _right side_ as she worked. She was operating on his right shoulder, so in her peripherals she could see the right half of his face, and it made her hands unsteady. The right half, the unscarred half, the green iris half, the right ear that wasn't burnt and disfigured.   
  
Her brain was on autopilot, healing his injury, doing the sort of thing she'd done over and over again. And because Caitlin's brain was on autopilot, the non-doctor portion was recognizing that side of his face, the chemicals and hormones in her head were telling her _Barry Barry Barry Barry_.   
  
_Barry got shot._  
  
Barry's losing blood.  
  
Barry was being stupid again.

_Barry will die if you don't get this right._  

The Flash's life was in her hands, as usual, and that instinctive cloud in Caitlin's mind was making her lose her focus.

The speedster jerked, crying out suddenly, and Caitlin realized she'd lost her grip on the forceps and had actually poked the inside of his wound. Her eyes stung, _you're hurting Barry_ , and she turned her head so that her hair shielded his face from her view completely. She needed to concentrate.  
  
It took at least ten more minutes to remove the bullet, clean the wound, and stitch it up. Fleetingly, once she had regained control of her more fundamental thoughts, Caitlin recalled that she could try using her powers to close his shoulder up again. But even after Wally, she wasn't nearly comfortable enough in her own head to risk it a second time. Especially not this second.  


* * *

  
Savitar had remained conscious through the process, of course—the original had gone through worse than this—and when Snow leaned over to make sure he was still awake, glassy mismatched eyes dipped into hers. She was shaking.

  
“You'll be back in shape by tomorrow morning,” Caitlin informed him, her words all riding on one breath. “ _Don't_ get up yet.”

 Savitar grunted, shifting just a little. “I don't...wanna owe you,” he spat.  
  
“It's a little late for that,” Caitlin muttered, thinking of H.R, eyeing the Hammond Cuff. “You were refusing my help because you didn't want to _owe_ me? Honestly.” She threw the forceps down onto the rack. “How childish can you get?”  
  
Savitar leaned his own head back. She didn't understand. To be expected. He had done enough. _They_ had done enough _for_ him. He didn't want anyone to do any more. He wasn't sure if it was guilt, or just the desire to ditch the past, run as far away from it as possible. It was all too much. His skull would explode with what he'd lost, gained, taken, wanted, tried. It was better to make sure she didn't do him yet another undeserved kindness. Then he wouldn't have to think of the list and how long it was getting.

“I'm trying to start over, remember?” he huffed, a sneering chortle stuttering out without his consent. It had kind of been over a thousand years since he'd been shot. He was allowed to whine a little. “I...don't need any more...favors.”  
  
Her back was to him. “You can't start over if you're dead.”  
  
“Barry isn't...afraid.” He didn't know what made him say it. Maybe this was his way of thanking her. Saying the actual two words was becoming a kind of blockage in his mind.  
  
Caitlin turned, complete bewilderment painting her face. It made her nose wrinkle. His good eye fixed on that wrinkle and didn't move. “What?”  
  
“He's not...afraid,” Savitar repeated, trying and failing to sit up. Caitlin moved to press a cloth to his shoulder lest it open again, but he put a hand on her wrist, pushing it away with zero speed this time. “When stuff like this happens,” he rattled out, head craning to gesture to his shoulder. “He's not—scared. Because he knows you're...gonna fix him.” Another chortle. His eyes went to the ceiling, the wrinkled nose was gone anyway. “Every time—”  
  
“You need to rest,” Caitlin muttered, interrupting him. His head wagged imperceptibly; irritation dripped in the back of his throat, did she never stop _talking,_ why didn't he remember this much talking before?  
  
“Every time...he gets hurt—if you're there, it's...like he's fine. Like—he's gonna be okay.” Savitar forced strength into his tone, words coming quicker so he didn't have to pause so often. He was feeling sleepy. Probably the loss of blood. Healing factor or not, he needed blood, and losing that much of it was going to shove him out of consciousness soon. Maybe not for as long as it would an average person, but it was still basically inevitable. Talk faster. “You make him—feel—safe.”  
  
From her expression, you would've thought she'd just seen someone collide with a school bus. 

Then her eyebrows pinched together. The nose wrinkle made a distracting comeback and she said, tone completely neutral, “What about you?”  
  
The question threw him. What made her ask that? He wasn't Barry Allen. That was the topic of this conversation. Barry. She'd told him he wasn't Barry herself. It was drilled into every cell in his body. His mind flipped pages to avoid the answer to her question. He was sleepier than ever. Shoulder throbbing. It was too hot in this room. Where was his armor when he needed it? Why hadn't he counted on that stupid gun? He was _faster_ than a bullet. Now he owed her. 

She was waiting. He thought for a moment. There hadn't been any fear after she'd found him in the corridor. Had there been before? There had definitely been a certain level of _stress_. He remembered thinking, _What happens if I can't stop the bleeding?_ as a flaw in his little plan to avoid her detection. Then she'd come around the corner, and he didn't need to come up with an answer. She'd stop the bleeding. He didn't want her to. But she would, and he was extremely aware of it.

The edges of his vision were going black. Her eyes were ridiculously brown. It wasn't realistic. Who designed them? That shade of brown hadn't been in the Speed Force. The black hadn't reached the brown yet. He was so tired. He couldn't feel any of the fingers on his right hand.  
  
“I guess I'm gonna be okay too,” he murmured, resigned. He said it so quietly, with the last of his energy, he held out a small hope she hadn't heard him.  
  
Was that a smile? Smile. Who else had been smiling at him recently? No one else. And they shouldn't. _Was_ she smiling? He couldn't tell. His eyes closed before she completed it. Caitlin said something, he heard it echo off the walls, but he couldn't actually make it out. She never stopped talking. He needed to rest.

The room went dark and Savitar fell asleep.


	11. Making A Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin gets a call in the middle of the night. Later, she sends Savitar into the bank after Mick Rory, hoping to catch the pyro before any more damage is done. Unfortunately, the extraction is interrupted by a new version of an old friend.

It was 4 o'clock in the morning when Cisco called her.

“Caitlin, this is very important.”

Her room in the bowels of Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs was still and cold and dark. She had been reluctant to even pull one arm out from under the covers to reach for the communicator. There weren't any curtains to cover the window, and far in the distance, she could see the place where the road onto the property turned to connect with the highway. It was a little too easy to imagine the taillights of every car as the eyes of the Reverse Flash, glowing as he stood just outside the fence. Her sleepy mind hadn't used her experiences with Dr. Wells against her in a long time, but distance didn't make it any less effective.  
  
“Cisco,” Caitlin grunted, not bothering to morph the walkie talkie into the bluetooth as she rolled over, “I swear, unless Barry is _dying_...”  
  
“No, no, he's fine. He's good. Everybody's all good here.” Cisco sounded sheepish. “I was just wondering—like, I know it's been a while, but—”  
  
“Cisco.”  
  
“You up for a game of chess?”  
  
Caitlin's legs swung to hang over the side of the bed. The question instantly transported her back to her first day of work after the particle accelerator exploded.

It had been two weeks since the accident, and she'd been bedridden, shattered over Ronnie. She ate very little, things like a single slice of bread or a protein shake, things she knew would keep her body from giving out on her. The bare minimum, because eating didn't matter anymore. She slept fitfully, if at all, and when she woke up in the night she could swear she heard him saying her name. People had stopped coming by to try and console her, but they still called. Even her mother had tried to get ahold of her, but all Caitlin could do was send a one-worded text assuring her she hadn't died in the explosion. Not physically anyway.  
  
When she finally did get out of bed, it was to answer the door.  
  
“Doctor Wells?” Caitlin had mumbled, hair a mess, staring numbly at her boss as he parked his wheelchair on her front step.  
  
Harrison's smile was there, but it was tired. All he said was, “It's time to come back home now, Doctor Snow.”

Reporting for duty at S.T.A.R. Labs that afternoon, Cisco had been the first to greet her. The only one _there_ to greet her. Everyone else had gone. She hadn't seen him since Ronnie's funeral, and his eyes were wide and bloodshot when he spotted her. One thought pushed through the fog in her mind, the concern that he hadn't been sleeping either.  
  
He hurried forward, and at first she thought he'd hug her—she wasn't sure she'd be open to a hug ever again—but she didn't have to worry. He stopped short, and there was a moment of silence as they just looked at each other, the echoes of the friend that wasn't standing with them hovering just past their shoulders.

 “You up for a game of chess?” Cisco had asked, voice quiet.

So the first thing she'd done when she returned to the place she'd lost her fiancee was not flinging herself into her chores. It wasn't crumpling into a mess in the corridor. It wasn't turning and running away. It was playing a game with the closest thing she'd had to family back then. She remembered winning, but she couldn't allow herself to think Cisco had lost on purpose due to her grief. He had played just as hard as she had, and while they played they talked—about the tie Cisco had worn over his tee shirt that awful night, about improving Dr. Wells' wheelchair, about the employees that hadn't returned to work after their big failure. They argued about which scented candles to light in order to get the gaseous smell out of the Cortex. Caitlin had felt her shell wobble and crack, but if Cisco noticed he was putting her back together, he didn't let on. He just made his popular references and named his pawns and even gave her the cherry lollipop he'd brought in the place of his lunch. It made her warmer to think that after everything they'd lost, he still carried lollipops everywhere he went.

Now, in those wee hours, when Caitlin heard him ask her again if she wanted to play chess, she knew it was more like a request for a glass of water after running a marathon. Something was hurting Cisco, and he needed her to help him get away from it.

She held the walkie talkie closer to her lips. “We're on parallel Earths. How are we going to play chess?”  
  
Static surrounded his voice. “Ohoho _ho_ , wait till you see what Francesco's been cooking. Pull the antenna up. On the walkie talkie, yup, all the way up.”  
  
A moment later, Caitlin was having a kind of multidimensional Skype call with her best friend. The antenna on her communicator acted as a kind of mini projector, flashing a live video large enough to fill the entire north wall of the room. Cisco appeared on camera, wearing a tee shirt that said _I Hate You To The Moon And Back_. Caitlin pulled her bathrobe more tightly around her. Baggy pajamas did nothing on an icy autumn night, especially when your DNA had been altered to produce _more_ cold, instead of pushing it away.  
  
“Cisco, this is amazing,” Caitlin breathed, beaming at the display. “Why couldn't you have told me about this feature before, I could've been doing this all along!” She squinted at the background, stifling a yawn. “Why are you still at S.T.A.R. Labs?”  
  
Cisco's torso was no longer in view; he was leaning far out, arms stretching, fiddling with something that was doing a lot of clanging. “I drank too much coffee.”  
  
“You could just as easily be reading a book at home,” Caitlin muttered. “Or watching one of those sci-fi movies you love so much?”  
  
“Between you and me, sci-fi's really not my thing these days, y'know, what with the whole evil time travel speed god trying to ruin our lives,” Cisco muttered back. He pulled back into range. “Okay!” Clapping his hands, Cisco adjusted the camera and picked up something that looked strangely like an 80's video game control stick. “Get ready to lose spectacularly.”  
  
Caitlin's nose wrinkled. “But there's no—”

There was a noise like a vacuum being turned off, and a holographic chess board appeared in front of her on the bed. She knew it was holographic because of the static framing its shape, running in and out of the checkered slab of wood.  
  
“You were saying?”  
  
“How did you...”  
  
“Kadabra dropped this when he tried to blow us all up,” Cisco admitted, holding up what looked like a very expensive, awfully dangerous wristwatch. “I tweaked it.”  
  
He looked so pleased with himself, Caitlin felt guilty for pointing out the flaw. “But holograms are just light particles. It's not like I can move the pawns.”  
  
“ _Most_ holograms are just light particles. You're looking at a Cisco RamonTM special here. They're like those touch screens on your phone,” he informed her, tapping his temple. “They respond to the electricity in the human body. They'll go wherever you swipe 'em.”  
  
“That's _very_ clever,” she praised him, smiling. “Shall we?”  
  
“Let's.”  
  
They played until the first rays of light began shining through Caitlin's window. At one point Cisco swore she was cheating, and by the time they were halfway through, she had cocooned herself in her covers, much to her friend's amusement. He himself had the heat turned all the way up in Earth-1's Cortex, a pumpkin spice latte at his side and several of her pawns captured.

“Why don't I just come over there for a visit?” Cisco asked while waiting for her to make a move. “We can play chess with an _actual_ chess board. I mean, what are my powers for if I can't check out other Earths whenever I get the travel bug?”  
  
“The good of humanity?” Caitlin suggested dryly.

“You right, you right.”  
  
“I don't think that would be the best idea,” she admitted. Holding up a palm, she added quickly, “Not that I wouldn't love to see you—you know I would—but do you really think you'd enjoy yourself? Savitar hasn't exactly sweetened over time.”  
  
“What, like a fruit?” Cisco grunted.  
  
“Besides,” Caitlin moved to capture one of his pieces—the first one she'd managed to take. “They need you at home.”  
  
“We need _you_ back home too, Caitlin.” Cisco didn't even seem to notice she'd stolen his pawn. He was looking into the camera with earnest, sad puppy eyes. “It's not the same without you.”  
  
“Are you saying Julian isn't a better physician than I am?”  
  
“Please, Indiana Jones is barely in here,” Cisco scoffed. “I'm saying it feels _weird_ when one of us is missing. You know, one of our Golden Trio. Trust me, Team Flash isn't Team Flash when you're not around.”

Caitlin didn't respond audibly, hoping her grin was answer enough. She remembered what the Flash had told her before she'd gone to Earth-66, how he looked down at her and made her promise to come back, telling her how much he needed her with them. _I need you too. All of you._ She'd be frozen solid without them.

Cisco was swallowing a sip from his latte. “Seriously. Like, for example, okay—Barry came in here yesterday after a mission out on the river—boat thing, don't ask—with a straight-up head cold. Turns out homeboy forgot water soaking your feet, plus cold weather, equals the sniffles. And here I have these perfectly-good resistant boots I've been saving for the season, and we didn't even think about it!”  
  
“Technically getting wet feet doesn't result in developing a cold,” Caitlin corrected, mouth on default. “Although it is true that if you're already carrying the virus, wet feet don't help.”  
  
Cisco snapped his fingers. Their game of chess forgotten, he pointed at the camera, leaning back in his seat. “See? That's why we need you here! You would've nagged and told him he couldn't go out without protection and I would've been like, _ayyy, new boots_ , problem solved! And I wouldn't have to listen to him sneezing through the comms all day.”  
  
“I do _not_ nag,” Caitlin protested.

Cisco's eyes widened. “Oh my bad. You're right, I must've been thinking of a different Caitlin Rosalind Snow, M.D.”

“We agreed never to mention my hideous middle name.”  
  
“You didn't get it in writing.”  
  
She made a face that told him he was insufferable and he gave her a big, cheesy grin that told her he was aware, the pair of them chortling in unison.  
  
“So what about you, how's it going with Team Flash-66?” Cisco sat up straight. “Which is totally its new name, by the way, thank you.”  
  
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “I wouldn't call it a _team_ , exactly. The only real mission we have seems to be stopping Heat Wave. But that's a lot harder to do when the heat part comes from _him_ , and not from some souped up flamethrower.”  
  
“Well yeah, but you have the cuffs, so—just get those bad boys on him and he gone.”  
  
Caitlin blinked. “I'm sorry?”  
  
“The cuffs, if you slap those on him—”  
  
“What cuffs, Cisco?” Caitlin demanded, voice sharp.  
  
Cisco's mouth dropped open. “Are you serious right now? I _packed_ you power-dampening, titanium handcuffs. Did you not check the bag I gave you? They were right next to the suit!”

 “You're telling me this _now_?”  
  
“They were _right next to the suit_ , Caitlin!”  
  
“How did you fashion power-dampening handcuffs this late into the game?” Caitlin groaned.  
  
“I haven't exactly had a lot of free time, thank you very much,” Cisco growled. He admitted a little reluctantly, “Those are just prototypes. I used some of the scrap metal from the Pipeline. No guarantee they're gonna hold anybody for too long, but at least they won't kill them.”

“Cisco, why are you really up this late?” Caitlin finally murmured. “Is there something keeping you awake?”  
  
His smile dwindled. “Oh. Uh...I dunno. I guess...” He looked down at the chess board, lifting one of his pieces and letting it dangle. “I guess it's the whole thing with H.R. I mean, he was always—any time the big freaking _Infantino Street_ deadline kept me up, I came down here. I thought—I thought if I kept working, you know, I could figure out a solution overnight. Then we'd be in the clear.” He rubbed his nose. “H.R. woke up a couple of times I did it, and...” Cisco let out the last of the tale on one long exhalation. “He brought me some of his stupid coffee, and he'd give me one of his stupid pep talks...”  
  
“Waved his _stupid_ drumsticks around?” Caitlin guessed, a breathy little laugh dancing out, tone breaking.  
  
Cisco smiled, but he didn't laugh with her. Finally he nodded, and kept nodding, and when Caitlin thought he might forfeit the game and call it a night—or a morning—he said quietly, “I really miss him.”  
  
“I'm sure he'd be very happy to hear that.” She sat back on her palms, watching his image flicker on the wall.  
  
“Aw, god.” Cisco did chuckle then, rolling his eyes. “Good thing he's not around. He'd never shut up.” His eyelids lowered; he let out a puff of air. “I keep thinking there was something else we should've done. I _know_ there was, he didn't have to do what he did. I get that he died a hero, okay, but...it—”  
  
“It doesn't make it feel any better,” Caitlin finished. He glanced up at her, and she pursed her lips. “I felt the same way when Ronnie passed. H.R. did what he knew was right. He wouldn't want you to waste time wishing he hadn't, he _wanted_ to be a hero. He wouldn't want you to waste time at all.”  
  
Cisco ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Cait,” he sighed.  
  
“Of course.”

The video feed on the wall shuddered, and the walkie talkie began emitting a very loud _BEEP, BEEP, BEEP_. Leaping to pick it up, Caitlin turned it around and around in her hands, trying to figure out how to silence it, afraid it would wake Wally, though she knew he was too far away in the building to actually hear it.

“What's happening?” Caitlin asked Cisco's image. The chess board had fizzled out.  
  
“You got an incoming call,” Cisco replied, baffled.  
  
“How do I answer it?”  
  
“Hang up on me.” Cisco threw an arm into the air, letting it slap back down onto his knee, exasperated. “Guess I'll beat you later.”  
  
“Sorry, Cisco.” Caitlin pushed the antenna down, and the projection disappeared entirely. Tucking hair out of her face, she held the talk button on the side of the device. “Hello?”  
  
“I found him.”  
  
“Savitar?” Caitlin glanced around the room, foolishly, as if he were standing there. “You found who?”  
  
“Rory. He's in a bank in the middle of the city. I saw him go in when I ran past.”  
  
Caitlin huffed, pulling on her slippers and heading out of her bedroom, making for the Cortex. “Shouldn't you be resting?” He may have had accelerated healing, but she would've given the shoulder at least one more day without so much dashing around. He barely ever took that suit off.

“I dunno if you noticed,” Savitar's voice was tight, “But I don't respond well to your nagging.”

“I _don't_ —never mind.” Caitlin had reached the Cortex, whispering to make sure Wally remained asleep. “Which bank is it?”

 “National.”  
  
“You won't be able to catch him without any more injuries—to yourself and others.” Snow fought the urge to bite her lip. “Cisco just told me he packed power-dampening devices along with your suit, but they're back here in the Cortex.”  
  
She bent down, rooting through the duffel bag she kept beneath the monitors. They were at the bottom of the bag, silver with yellow circles of light all the way around—a gangster's version of a pair of handcuffs.

“They seem self-functioning, but I don't know if you have time to—”  
  
_FWOOSH!_

 Savitar was right in front of her in his suit, very much in her personal space, and she sucked in involuntarily at the sudden company. Where she held one cuff, he was now gripping the other.  
  
“I have time,” he told her slowly, pulling off the hood of his outfit.

At his volume, Caitlin's wide eyes cut to Wally's sleeping form. Savitar's head turned; he saw the boy and glanced back at her, finger to his lips exaggeratedly as if _she_ were the one being too loud. He made an intentional 'my bad' grimace, showing surprisingly clean teeth. The expression was so teasingly reminiscent of Barry when he said something that made Caitlin give him _the look,_ she was tempted to deal out the same blow to Savitar himself.  
  
He began moving soundlessly for the exit, as if not wanting to speed out directly in the room Wally was snoozing in. On his way, he turned around walking, pointing to her bedhead. “Your hair looks nice.”  
  
Caitlin's mouth drew into a tight line, not at all enjoying being taunted. She did give him _the look_ then. His eyebrows bounced and he pursed his lips at her, tugging his hood back on before speeding out of the building.

Knowing he'd be at the bank in a total of ten seconds, Caitlin counted before huffing into the comms, “Please tell me he isn't setting things on fire already.”

He didn't answer right away, though she was sure he'd heard her. Most likely he was deciding whether or not he should entertain her desire to be his 'backup' on today's mission; this preference of his was subject to change day to day. “Doesn't look like it from the inside. Have you always been this high strung or are you just testing me?”  
  
“So he's not drawing attention to himself this time.” Caitlin began thinking aloud, tuning out his jibes, brushing more messy locks out of her eyes. “He doesn't want to be caught—he's definitely there to steal something.”  
  
“In a _bank_.” Savitar's voice was the audio equivalent of raised eyebrows. “Imagine that. Almost like there's something valuable in here.”

“How can you be focused if you have time to backtalk me?” Caitlin hissed. Wally was rolling over, wincing; his legs were probably stiff if she had to guess. “And _yes_ , I have always been this high strung.” She let the words hang there, a sudden thought occurring to her. _Draw attention to yourself_. “Are you in your suit right now?”  
  
“I changed before I came in,” he told her impatiently, as if she needn't have asked.  
  
“Good,” she sighed. Bedhead was very ticklish. She wished she'd thought to comb it out before leaving her room. “He'll be on the lookout for the Flash.”  
  
“We're lucky I'm not the Flash, then,” Savitar grunted.

Caitlin's eyelids flew shut as she realized her mistake. _No. He definitely isn't_. “I mean—the civilians will be watching, so it's better to be safe than sorry.”  
  
“Sure.” Savitar's dot on the screen was moving slowly through the building. “Now all they have to stare at are the boiled red scars covering one half of my flesh. How's it going?” The last question was obviously directed mockingly to some patron of the bank; the monitors revealed a heat signature he was passing by. To Caitlin he added, in a guttural tone, “Low profile.”  
  
Caitlin rolled her eyes. Then they were caught by something thick, a bright group of colors, on the scanner. “There's a massive heat source on the second floor. It can't be anyone else—he's up by the vaults. Don't change into the suit yet,” she continued quickly. “I think your best bet with the cuffs is to try and catch him by surprise.”  
  
“Is there a mission coming up where I get to make the plan?” Savitar growled, his mark on the screen moving steadily, at regular speed, to the second floor. He definitely sounded like he was ascending stairs. “Or do you get off on bossing everything with a pulse?”  
  
Caitlin considered that one. “Yes.”

* * *

Savitar pressed his side against the nearest pillar. The smell from the coffee machine on the first floor filled the building; at 6:30 AM the bankers didn't put up with much until they got their caffeine. Customers were already bustling up and down the busy area, all in nice outfits, heels clicking, briefcases slapping against thighs. Savitar, in his dark jacket and jeans, probably would have stood out even without the scars. No one seemed to notice him, however, as he ducked out of sight. The power-dampening cuffs were warm in his pocket; the ring encasing his suit gleamed distractingly. He was near one of those old school green desk lamps, seated on a nearby table with pamphlets.

 Mick Rory looked fidgety when he wasn't setting things ablaze. His eyes were nigh lifeless without the glow from his powers; he was scanning the rows of pristine vault doors, but he looked bored, as if he weren't actually searching for something specific. Savitar felt a creeping along his spine. He knew that look of disinterest, the slack way Rory's arms were hanging down.

 “He's waiting for something,” he breathed into the comms. Before Team Flash had stopped his paradox problem, Savitar had had no one to plot things out with. He wasn't sure that he liked the change, but now that he had it as an option, he seemed to use it instinctually.  
  
“Like what?” his governess whispered back.  
  
Whatever it was, Savitar wasn't waiting for it too. He had the cuffs. He had the element of surprise. There were maybe two other people on this particular level of the bank; he wouldn't even have too many eyes on him as he carried out the deed. And no one was within sight of him at the moment, behind that pillar. In the time it took to drop a handful of water, he'd changed into the speedster suit, ready to step out and seize the pyro.  
  
“ _Freeze_!”  
  
But someone else beat him to it.

Savitar stopped just in time, not giving away his position as he heard the raspy voice coming from somewhere on the stairs; the balcony hid the intruder from view.  
  
Rory turned, suddenly smiling. Finally, something fun was happening. “Freeze?” he repeated, delighted. His skin pulsed cherry red. “I don't do _freeze_.”  
  
Savitar tried so hard not to roll his one good eye.

A gun came into view around the bannister first, two strong, tan hands gripping it. “Surprised to see me?”

“Nah,” Rory's voice was throaty. “To be honest I ain't given you much thought. Now look—you made me miss my _cue,_ detective. This place'll burn late.”  
  
Detective. Savitar stretched out, just enough so that he could see further past the pillar. Rory's fingers acted as lighters, the glow from the flames reflecting off of the glass walls of the balcony.

Brandishing the gun, dressed up in the same kind of monkey suit the rest of the bank's clients could be seen in downstairs, was Eddie Thawne.  
  
He was clean-shaven, and his hair was slightly darker here than it had been on Earth-1. Savitar had trained himself not to show emotion, least of all shock or pain, but seeing this particular boy in blue, alive and kicking, after _so_ long...he didn't realize his breathing had quickened until Caitlin's voice made him pull backward, out of sight again.  
  
“What is it? Who's there?”  
  
“It's Eddie.” The name tasted so foreign, Savitar licked his lips. “Eddie's here.”  
  
“Eddie?” Caitlin sounded distracted, as if thinking hard.  
  
“Thawne,” Savitar supplied. “He's got a gun on Rory.”  
  
“Eddie Thawne?” She was sure to wake Wally if she went on like that. “What does he think he's doing?”  
  
“Playing hero,” Savitar snorted, allowing one side of his mouth to curl up. “He's good at that.”  
  
“He can't know about Mick's metahuman abilities,” Caitlin surmised, talking quickly. “He'll be unprepared—he'll get roasted!”

 A huge ball of light soared through the air, blasting into the wall just a foot from the top of Eddie's head. Immediately, pandemonium could be heard below. Out of the corner of his eye Savitar could see people pushing for the double doors, the one or two civilians on the balcony shoving past Eddie to descend the stairs.

“I think he'll catch on,” Savitar muttered.  
  
“That was just a warning shot, pretty boy,” Rory snarled. “Next time you'll lose your hair. What is it this time? Still trying to turn me in?”  
  
“I never stopped,” Eddie spat. His too-blue eyes were smoldering as he straightened back up from the crouch he'd dropped into.  He didn't seem surprised by the super powers. “I've been tracking you down for months. But this?” He grinned, but there was no joy in it. “Going to the same bank? This was just a _coincidence_.” His gun remained cocked. “Mick Rory,” he said loudly, deliberately, “you're under arrest for the murder of former police captain David Singh.”  
  
Rory's head was tossed back with a bark of a laugh. “Same old song and dance, huh?” He stuck a thumb in his mouth, blowing out his cheeks, and it came away with a flame that caught his entire hand, eyes on Eddie the entire time. Casually, he let the hand rest on the bannister, melting the metal. “You read the papers, Thawne? They don't blame _me_ for what happened to your captain, do they?”  
  
Eddie's jaw was set, his hold on his gun too tight. He wasn't distracted by the oozing rail, focused solely on Heat Wave. “It was a frame job,” he snarled. “ _You_ shot him that night.”  
  
“Maybe,” Rory agreed, shrugging. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You follow your orders. I follow mine.”  
  
With that, two long trails of fire reached out for the detective. Eddie rolled to the round, but the heat made  the metal of his gun burn slightly orange and he let go of it, coming to a stop in the corner parallel to the top of the staircase.

“Dropped his gun,” Savitar informed Snow. “Rory still hasn't seen me.”  
  
“Okay, he definitely can't take on a meta without a weapon,” Caitlin exclaimed, fully focused, tone sharp. “Get him out of there before anything worse happens!”  
  
“Do I have to?” Savitar sighed.  
  
But before she could berate him, he had Eddie by the back of the jacket, racing from the building, only stopping when they were at least a block away. Eddie staggered when Savitar let go of him, catching his breath. He looked around, head whipping from side to side, and upon realizing where he wasn't he turned to stare at the speedster.

“What did you do?” Eddie panted. “I had him!”  
  
It took him a second. Then he  stepped backward halfway, mouth open.  
  
“You're him. You're the—you're the shadow. The one on the news.”  
  
Savitar's body and vocal chords vibrated, ensuring Thawne wouldn't be able to pick him out of a crowd. You couldn't be too careful with a face like his. “And you're out of your depth,” he told the detective.

“Take me back to the bank,” Eddie ordered. He walked forward, unafraid of the speedster. “Take me back. You don't understand. Everything he's done—he _can't_ get away this time!”  
  
Savitar smirked. “He won't.”  
  
He was through the double doors in seconds, and Caitlin's voice interrupted the feeling of the wind and the lightning yet again. “You waste an awful lot of time on quips,” she informed him.

 “You waste time on everything else,” Savitar retorted, “but you don't see me griping about it.”  
  
“ _Actually_ —”

Savitar met Rory on the first floor this time; the bank was deserted at this point. Rory was preparing to hurl a clump of fire at the front desk, but after using a good portion of the heat inside of him against Eddie, it seemed to be taking him longer than usual. His eyes were glued hungrily to the flame that was now the size of a basketball in his cupped hands, growing larger slowly.

Savitar dashed in front of him, the breeze in his wake extinguishing Heat Wave's fire.

 Rory scowled, looking around for the source, but Savitar was too quick and he returned to his palms, starting over.

  _WHOOSH!_

No fire.

  _WHOOSH!_

 No fire for you.

 That was too much for the pyro. Rory's hands curled into fists; after the fourth time, he whipped around, roaring, “Come out and face me like a man, freakshow! I know you're there!”  
  
“So smart.” Savitar punched him right across the mouth, savoring the movement so much that he tried the left hook too, just to get it out of his system.

 “That's enough!” Caitlin warned. She must've hacked the security cameras again. She'd been doing this more often lately, and he pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly. Couldn't Mommy just _try_ letting Junior out on his own without spying? But he drew away from Rory despite his irritation, energy still coursing through his chest and up his arms.

 Blood gushed from between Rory's gritted teeth. “I chose not to burn you last time,” he gurgled. “You won't be so lucky today.” He lifted a flaming left hand, gearing up to toss.

Savitar, grinning, darted far to the right at the perfect moment—or it would've been, if Rory had actually thrown any fire.  
  
Instead, he revealed Eddie's gun in his _right_ hand, and the bullet went clean through the edge of an unprepared Savitar's left shoulder.

Savitar didn't cry out this time, but playing with Heat Wave was no longer on his Reminders app.

  
_Click._

A staggering Savitar had the cuffs on the meta before the bullet that had sliced him landed on the ground. Rory looked down at his bound hands, confused, and noted the speedster standing, grimacing, beside him. Sneering, Heat Wave tried to melt the bonds, and Savitar heard Caitlin murmuring _come on, Cisco_ before a full minute passed by without even the scent of smoke.

 “Tell Cisco his toy paid off,” Savitar wheezed into the comms. “See you in the Pipeline.”


	12. Incentives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During yet another shoulder wound and yet another Caitlin-style lecture, Savitar gets to thinking about what he's missing. Turns out, of course, that it's something the real Barry never had to worry about.

When he'd been about to turn twelve years old, he had gotten the stomach bug. Or the flu. Whatever had been going around school that month, no matter how much orange juice he'd loaded up on or how much medicine he took to prepare, he still managed to catch the virus. It turned out to be terrible timing.

 He'd been living with Joe and Iris for a whole year, and his birthday would come with the morning. But instead of lying awake in anticipation of the festivities, he was throwing up all over his bed in the middle of the night. The sickness made his muscles hurt and the fever made him cold all over. The blanket had been bright green and the pillowcase was from the house he'd lived in before everything went wrong, when he still had two parents instead of an adoptive detective and hadn't been one room away from the girl he'd had a crush on since elementary school.  
  
He remembered the smell making him sicker as he vomited the pot roast they'd had for dinner. He remembered crying because he could feel himself about to heave again, and he had been hoping desperately that he was finished now. And it was dark, and he was alone. And he did not feel good.

  
The light flicked on. “Barry!”  
  
It was Iris, her pajamas pink, her hair frizzy, her right arm tattooed with corduroy lines. She'd been sleeping hard, but not hard enough to drown out the sounds from her friend's room. He would have been embarrassed by the mess surrounding him and the tears on his cheeks—he was going to be twelve in a few hours, this was not how a middle schooler should react to the stomach bug—but Iris didn't laugh or slowly back out of the room.

Instead, she said, “Gross—I'll get Dad!” and ran into the hall.

True to her word, she returned with Joe a moment later. The detective took one look at the boy's chalky face and bent over, pulling the soaked blankets away. He lifted the sick child bodily out of the bed.

“Come on, son, let's go.”  
  
“M'sorry, Joe,” he sniffled, arms held awkwardly away from his dirty pj's.  
  
“Nothin' to be sorry about, Bar', you can't help it.”  
  
Iris followed them out. “He can sleep on my floor, Daddy.”  
  
“Nuh uh, then I'm gonna have two kids throwing up and missing school. You get back in bed, Baby.”  
  
Joe ushered him into the bathroom, where he knelt before the porcelain throne, hands shaking as his body tried to empty a stomach that didn't have anything left to toss up. He could feel tingling in his cheeks. The bathroom floor was freezing. The Wests were arguing out in the hall.  
  
“But it's Saturday tomorrow.”  
  
“Iris, go to back to bed.”  
  
“Where's Barry gonna sleep?”  
  
“He'll sleep on the couch downstairs, don't worry about it.”

A moment later, after the boy had taken a quick, very hot shower and changed into one of Joe's tee shirts. Detective West led him down to the living room, where he'd covered the sofa in a bedspread, quilt, and throw pillow.  
  
Joe helped tuck him in. “You gonna be all right, Bar'? You don't feel any more coming, do you?”  
  
He shook his head, face warm, eyelids heavy.  
  
“Want me to stay up with you for a li'l bit, or you think you can fall asleep on your own?”  
  
A flicker of movement in his peripherals showed him that Iris was on the stairs, just barely visible around the corner, watching them. He nodded hard, though his throat was sore and the fever reminded him vividly what had happened in another living room around this time last year.

Joe rubbed his leg gently. “Get some rest, son. I'll see you in the morning.”  
  
Then the lights were off, and it was late, and he was shivering by himself. The neighborhood was still outside the window, and an airplane was soaring past overhead. He could hear it, it rattled the photos on the mantle. The rattling sound put his heart into his mouth, the heat in his skin and behind his eyes had him terrified to see a flash of electricity anywhere in the dark.

“I want my mom,” he whispered into the empty room, after glancing back up to see if Iris was still hiding on the landing. His cheeks were wet again. “I want my dad.”

It was too hard to be just him in that living room. It was too dark and he could still taste the pot roast and his feet felt like they were going to tremble right off his legs. He sat up. The corners of the room seemed to get darker every time he looked at them, and he did so often, checking for a hint of lightning, for red eyes and a towering figure in yellow.

“ _If I turned this light off now, would you be scared?_ ”  
  
He pressed the back of a hand to his right cheek. His skin felt hotter than ever, it hurt to touch it. The plane was gone, but he could swear there was still roaring. He could swear the rattling hadn't stopped. He twisted around, staring wide-eyed at everything he could see. He couldn't turn fast enough, he couldn't make sure there was nothing everywhere at once. His eyes stung and the couch was balmy beneath both palms.  
  
He stopped when his eyes reached the dining room behind him. Something had caught in the moonlight coming from the window, and he flinched when it glinted at him—then he saw that it wasn't yellow or red, it was blue.   
  
“ _See_ , _you're not afraid of the dark, Barry. You're afraid of being alone in the dark._ ”  
  
He got up, cautiously feeling for the switch on the wall. When the dining room had been illuminated, all the fear went out of him. And it wasn't because he'd turned on the light.

A big, plastic blue banner had been stretched across the doorway, and in vibrant paper letters it read, _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BARRY!_ all in gold. There were stickers of Dragonball Z characters slapped on every visible surface of the room, all at Iris' maximum reach. Coils of kitchen tinfoil were taped to the ceiling and curled around the display case. A real, professional microscope with a purple ribbon around its base sat on the table, beside three other fully-decorated gift bags and boxes. A tape roll was on its side on one of the chairs, and Joe's favorite mug still had cold coffee sitting in it, weighing down a roll of scarlet wrapping paper. Iris had left one of her hair scrunchies on the floor; she always took them off at the last second before bed.

“ _And that goes away when you realize something—you're never really alone._ ”

He climbed back onto the couch, tugging the blanket right up to his chin, eyes on his name in gold hanging behind him. He may not have his mother or father anymore, but he wasn't alone. He had people who would offer their bedroom floor if he was sick, people who cleaned him up in the middle of the night after puking all over their clean sheets. Someone to give him their shirt and rub his legs and call him Bar'.  
  
Even the fever couldn't make him afraid anymore, and he fell asleep smiling.

* * *

 

That memory didn't belong to Savitar. He could recall every detail and feeling, but the people who had been closest to him once would swear it hadn't happened to him, that it wasn't his. He didn't know why it was the first thing he thought of on the run back from the bank. Maybe it was the same feverish ache he felt after a bullet had just torn through his body.

The only thing more agitating than being shot in the shoulder— _twice—_ was having to run back to S.T.A.R. Labs with Heat Wave in tow seconds later. Not only was he heavy, smelly, and very angry, but even after they arrived he would not _shut up_. He wasn't raging about how he was going to escape. He was mocking his captor. Currently the thing that had wrought the most fascination was Cisco's Flash suit.  
  
“Fancy getup you got there, freakshow. How much, uh, how much superglue you use to stick those little lightning bolts on your head? They fly off a lot?”

“What is that, leather? My cousin wears leather. He's in a gang. 18. Thinks he's hot stuff. You two'd get along.”

“Too bad you didn't think to make it with a little Kevlar. They make it in black.”  
  
Savitar dragged him to the Pipeline, slowing when he reached the first empty cell. Really, he'd been moving slower and slower ever since they'd arrived at the building due to his injury, and his prisoner was not improving his mood. Neither were the too-bright emergency lights coming from every wall, or the ridiculous shade of blue inside the cell they approached.

“So much metal...” Rory breathed, staring around him. The whites of his eyes were turning pink. “What I could do to this structure...”  
  
Savitar raised his eyebrows, not impressed. “You could die in it,” he offered, deadpan.  
  
The meta did not seem at all fazed. Rory jerked, as if he hadn't learned that his parole officer would only grip tighter every time he did. “ _Me_ die?” he hissed, a huge smile playing about his face. “I'm not the one with a chunk taken outta my casing.” He nodded to Savitar's bleeding shoulder. “Can't outrun a hole that big, speedy.”  
  
“You're right,” Savitar nodded, thinking it over. “I've got accelerated healing properties, though, so—” He hit the side of his head with the heel of his hand. “Sorry, big words— _I get better fast_.”

Rory actually growled at him. “When I get outta this place, it's gonna melt on top of you. You'll choke on your own clubhouse.”  
  
“I've been through worse,” Savitar countered, tapping the necessary keys on the wall to open Heat Wave's cell door. He tossed the pyro inside and sealed him in, clutching his shoulder.

“Feeling that bullet now, are we?” Rory called from behind the glass, noticing the movement. “Blessed with fire...I keep forgetting guns used to be my favorite.”  
  
Savitar winced, glancing at the glove of his suit as he let go of his shoulder. More blood to clean out. He only had the one costume. “Like I said—I've been through worse.”  
  
Rory stared at the speedster, face a picture of delight at his enemy's pain. His eyes lingered on the raspberry red color mixing with the charcoal of the costume, as if drinking it in. The cuffs still tied his hands together, and his legs were visibly shaking with the obvious effort of trying to melt them off and getting nowhere. Sweat trickled down his forehead.

“Besides,” Savitar went on carelessly, smirking over at the pyro, “I've got a quick fix. Watch this.”  
  
Compliant or possibly just bored already, Rory pressed his nose to the glass, as if waiting for some epic display of superhuman abilities.

Instead, Savitar tilted his head back and whined as if tattling, unnecessarily loudly into his comms, “Caitliiin, I got shot again!”

It took about three minutes, but Caitlin eventually appeared around the corner in her white lab coat, face like thunder. She was wearing black slacks and a light blue sweater, and her hair was no longer the fluffy mess it had been just an hour ago. She held a fresh roll of bandages in one hand.

Savitar jutted out his lower lip to her, then made the same face to Rory, whose eyes were now trained on the bio-engineer with something that looked a little too intelligent to be ignored. But Savitar had turned back to Caitlin before noticing Rory's surprised expression, folding his arms with a slight wince.

“You, medical wing, now.” Caitlin snapped her fingers and pointed to the exit. Her tone was biting.   
  
Savitar, undaunted, wordlessly flashed out of the corridor. With a neutral glance at Rory, who grinned toothily at her, Caitlin slid her hand over the panel on the wall, allowing her palm to be scanned. The final metal door collapsed over the glass, shielding Heat Wave from all sights and sounds apart from the ones in his own cell.

* * *

“How?” Caitlin wrung out a rag she'd soaked in ointment, squeezing a little harder than she needed to to rid it of excess liquid. Her tone was icier than ever. “ _How_ do you manage to get shot twice within the span of _three days_? Why is this the second time I have treated a bullet to the shoulder this week?”  
  
“I wanted a matching set,” Savitar replied dryly.  
  
Caitlin hardly heard him. She was on a roll. “You have to be smarter!” She slapped the rag down on his wound and he thrashed once, hissing through his teeth. “You're telling me the man who hoodwinked Central City's finest detective, three scientific geniuses and one experienced superhero doesn't think to make sure the _only_ practical weapon in this situation was taken care of?”  
  
The speedster made a wet sound in his throat before snarling, “I _didn't_ 'hoodwink' you. I failed, you all won. Remember? That's why we're _here_.”  
  
Caitlin pressed harder as she cleaned the blood off of his arm. “That was the most basic of metas,” she reminded him, ignoring his bitterness. “Fire powers? You've dealt with those a hundred times over.”  
  
“Yeah, my Speed Force nightmare was being chased through Pompeii by the Human Torch for an eternity,” Savitar grunted.

She still wasn't listening. The rag was almost completely bright red now, and she didn't seem to notice. “All you had to do was apply the power-dampening cuffs and come straight back here. Simple physics, the basest strategy. That was the plan. Instead a bank is burning, Eddie Thawne could've been killed—again _—_ and you screwed up and got yourself shot through the shoulder! _Again_!”  
  
“I got the guy, didn't I?”  
  
“It was _stupid_!” Caitlin wet the rag again, but it only got the ointment dirty with blood. She wasn't focusing on what she was doing. She went to apply the bandage, wrapping it too tightly, making that red too.  
  
“Agh, Snow—”Savitar's teeth ground together, she was doing this wrong, his entire arm hurt. “Snow—”  
  
“No! No, you can't talk your way out of this, it's too late! You never think, and I'm left behind to prepare for who _knows_ what crazy damage you'll do to yourself next. If I weren't here, what would you do when people like Mick Rory—” Too much pressure, the bandage was too tight.  
  
“Stop—”  
  
“You take too many risks, Barry!”  
  
“ _Caitlin._ ” Savitar grabbed her wrist, yanking it effortlessly away from his wounded shoulder.

The world went black and white for a second.  
  
Her mouth stopped moving at last. Her eyes cleared when she looked at him, and he saw her pupils trace his scars. The color in her face went from fully saturated to practically nonexistent. He was probably gripping her too hard, but his brain was caught on what she'd called him, the way your shirt gets caught on a bramble.  
  
It was too familiar. The scolding, the way he couldn't get a word in, even the color of the sheets on the operating table were the same. How long had it been since he'd made Caitlin Snow angry like this? How long since he'd returned from a mission just to have her in his face, patching him up with her hands and tearing him down with her electric looks and her tone?   
  
Glaring at each other, for a moment he _was_ Barry again, and he was in the Cortex instead of the med bay, and Cisco was watching awkwardly from his desk as they snapped at each other. The fight went out of his gaze at the feeling, and he let go of her.  
  
“Sorry.” Caitlin pulled her arm in close to her chest, turning away. “I'm sorry. I'll start over,” she muttered, beginning to unwrap his bandage slowly.  
  
Savitar nodded, leaning back onto the mattress. “Where do you go?” he asked suddenly, almost suspiciously. Maybe changing the subject. More likely dismissing the incident.

She was quiet, as if afraid to speak again. She might not think he deserved conversation after this latest stunt, and would stitch him up and click away in her heels. But after a moment she asked, voice like cotton, “What do you mean?”  
  
“You're not here in the evenings,” he grunted. “You don't have another job, and it's not because you don't know how to do anything else. What's had your attention while I was out looking for Rory? You and your _team_ partying in the multiverse without me?”  
  
If she was surprised he'd noticed her absence, she didn't show it. “Actually I've been...attending classes.”  
  
Disappointing. Savitar waited for elaboration. The bandage was almost used up.  
  
“I met this Earth's version of Martin Stein,” she explained, and her tone was stronger, as if relieved to be moving away from the mistake she'd made seconds ago. “His wife is in critical condition, possibly because of Kyle Nimbus.”  
  
“The Mist.”  
  
“You remember that?” Caitlin blinked hard, shaking her head a little as if wanting to kick herself mentally. “Sorry. Of course you do—anyway—he just...he seemed lonely, and I couldn't help it. I've had coffee with him a few times—”  
  
“He's a little old for you, isn't he?” Savitar's lip curled up into something dangerously close to a patronizing smile and he turned to look at her at last.

Caitlin did not dignify that with a direct response. “He suggested I check out a few of his lectures. He's turned Earth-66's Hudson University into his own experimental corporation, but he still teaches night classes on nuclear fission and transmutation—”  
  
“So you're feeding your science bug.” Savitar's cup of care had emptied. He rolled his head back to the other side. “I know what you're trying to do.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Stein.” Savitar glanced at the ceiling. “And Wally. An engineer, a genius. You wanna build me a little team before you run back to the real Flash.”  
  
She didn't deny it.   
  
“There's just one _tiny_ flaw in your plan.” Savitar sat up, though pain jolted through his arm. “I'm not the Flash. And I don't need a team. I don't need you. I don't need Wally, or Stein, or anybody else.”  
  
Caitlin was staring at him, face emotionless. When had she learned to control her expression the way he did? Had she always been able to? He couldn't remember. It was probably conditioned for her doctor's practice, not to show alarm in order to keep the patient calm. She was remarkably good at it.  
  
“No one can get by in life on their own,” Caitlin told him matter-of-factly.  
  
Savitar let out a long, exaggerated sigh, taking the clean gray shirt she offered him, one of the ones he'd packed. His wound was patched. “Here we go.”  
  
“Everyone—especially _time remnants—_ has been dependent on at least two other human beings in order to survive during the course of a lifetime.” She was going into scientist mode, he could tell by the metal in her words. “It's in our nature to lean on others. By ourselves we don't get far. I _know_ you remember needing people,” she added sharply. He didn't look at her. “You remember wanting people by your side. I know that's why you agreed to come here—and I know that's why you're being the Flash again.” She had discovered his motive.  
  
His eyes flickered between both of hers, went down to the small smile she was now wearing. Something twisted in his chest. He couldn't tell whether it was negative or not. He'd been so hollowed-out for so long, he wasn't sure how to name his own feelings.

“Or—whatever you're calling yourself,” Caitlin amended, holding up a hand. “You said we abandoned you,” she went on, folding her arms around herself. “That we... _forgot_ you, in the future. You told Barry that was why you became Savitar. The 'God of Speed'. You recruited acolytes and followers so that you wouldn't be forgotten again, but...” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “It's better to help people—to feel their genuine gratitude and—and real _love_ from the people you rescue in that suit...than to be worshipped as a god, just because they're afraid of you.”  
  
He tried to swallow, but he couldn't. Settled for looking at the Hammond Cuff still around his wrist, on the outside of the costume. She didn't get to do this, to probe him and try to clean him out the way she had his bullet hole. She was Barry's little nurse, Cisco's best friend, Joe's teammate, Wally's advisor. By extension, she wasn't allowed to understand. It felt like someone had signed their name on the inside of a journal he'd kept his whole life, without his permission, and he'd just opened the front cover to see it there, in contrast to his own handwriting. It didn't feel intentionally deleterious, but it didn't feel correct, either.   
  
“You might not think about it too much when you're out there, but—you've been _saving_ lives instead of taking them, or—or—corrupting them.” Caitlin let out a small laugh, the kind you release when something is unbelievable, when it's ironic and there's a little bit of pain from the past barely mixing with the good that brings the laugh. “If you keep that up...no one is going to forget you in a hurry.”

_You're afraid of being alone in the dark._

“And you won't be alone anymore.” She picked up the basin of ointment, the bloody rag floating in it, making her way out of the room. “Whether you like it or not.”


	13. Roadblockers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin's determined to fix Stein's problem, while Savitar is determined to make sure Wally isn't his.

The boy in front of Caitlin was asleep.

She had been diligently taking notes, glancing up every now and then to copy some new algorithm Stein had jotted onto the whiteboard, when her pen slid in a jerk as the student sitting just a foot before her let out a loud snore.   
  
Professor Stein did not appear to hear it and plowed on in his lecture. He had been stuck teaching on time travel for the past three days, though he had admitted privately to Caitlin that his outline for the year had been focused solely on transmutation. His students didn't seem to mind the change in course—time travel was just as fascinating as transmutation, especially to someone like Caitlin, who had experienced its repercussions for herself.  
  
As the class dismissed, Caitlin pulled her bag over her shoulder, passing the still-snoozing boy as quietly as she could. Part of her wanted to wake him in the most alarming fashion possible, as punishment for falling asleep in the first place, but she decided it wasn't worth the effort. Besides, she wanted to catch Stein before he left.

“Professor Stein,” she called, hurrying down to the main floor where he was wiping down his demonstration board.  
  
“Ah, Miss Snow,” Stein turned around with the same dazed look in his eyes people wore after coming out of a particularly good book. “I must say, I'm delighted you could find the time to attend so many of my rather formidable lectures. This will be your, what is it, your seventh class with us, won't it? I know my lessons can sometimes feel interminable.” He nodded to the boy snoring in the seats. “I appreciate your _sticking it out_ , shall we say.”  
  
“Oh, it's—believe me, it's my pleasure,” Caitlin assured him, beaming as she readjusted her bag's strap. “Speaking of time,” she added quickly, “I thought you said this was a course on transmutation?”  
  
Stein's glazed appearance wavered. He set the eraser down, licking his lips. “Yes, well, it _was_. That is, I had every intention of conducting a study on the subject, but...I suppose once I get started on—on such an expandable topic as time travel, it takes a while to get back on track.”  
  
“Why the sudden interest in it?” Caitlin wondered. “Time, I mean?”  
  
It took him a moment to respond. There was a distance in the way he hunched his shoulders, in the way he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Caitlin recognized his expression; then she knew the answer to her question before he gave it.

“While the theory has always been a point of great interest to me—bordering on obsession, if I'm to be honest—lately I find myself more immersed in it than ever before.” Stein glanced at the empty whiteboard, searching it with tired, lonely eyes. “With my wife drawing nearer and nearer to the end of her own timeline...I can't help but travel back to a day where it wasn't so difficult for her, the years during which she was at optimal health, able to stand at my side...” He sniffed, standing a little taller. “Imagining it as a possibility _feeds_ the obsession, if you will.”

Caitlin didn't want to disrespect him, or speak out of place. She held this man in high esteem, both on Earth-66 and her own. Back home she had helped him survive and adapt to the impossible, had gotten to know him and his daughter, had been able to count him a friend. Here they had shared coffee and theories and he had released just a taste of his personal life, just a drop of the ache he felt for Clarissa, he had confided in her. He had lived a long, successful life already and could very well go on to achieve even more with the years he had left. But as intelligent as Martin Stein was, as well-read and educated and _talented_ as he was, he was still just an old man, afraid of facing the rest of his life without his best friend. His partner.  
  
Doctor Snow had lived his nightmare for herself. There was an added pain for her. Not one that made hers deeper than Stein's, but one that made it different. She had lost _her_ partner before their life together could truly begin. Ronnie had been taken from her too soon; they would never grow gray and slow with one another, she would never reach back and find as many memories as Stein could. She only had a certain number, and she was loathe to let go of even a second she remembered spending with the man she loved.

That was why she had committed to helping him. She couldn't let him lose Clarissa. Barry's lungs had been corrupted once by Kyle Nimbus' abilities; even if he had the advantage of his own superhuman DNA, there should be a way to save Stein's wife as well. She could shake it—perhaps not in the same way or with the same speed Barry had, but it _had_ to be possible. The key was to find the meta first. Caitlin had to be sure of his mutated properties before coming up with a solution; for all she knew, Earth-66's Mist had a different genetic code than the one on Earth-1. But once they had him, they could begin tests, they could find a cure.

Of course, she hadn't told Martin this yet.   
  
It wouldn't be right to get his hopes up—and there was the small matter of explaining herself and her skills and her experience with Nimbus should she decide to come clean. It might mean telling Stein _everything_ in order to gain his approval, his belief in what she'd say. And coffee chats or no, they were not quite there yet in this little professor-student friendship.

Stein rubbed his hands together. “Listen to me. Not to worry, I won't go senile just yet, Miss Snow. Endlessly prattling on about the _good old days_. There is more to life than the things gone by—I talk far too much about the past already. And I am of the opinion that one should stride forward instead of spending all of one's time focused solely on what they've left behind. I assume you agree?” His eager old eyes searched her face, looking for the usual enthusiasm and compassion they found there.  
  
Caitlin, lost in thought, started when he said her name. “Absolutely,” she stammered, not sure what she was responding to. “Professor—I've been meaning to ask you—the man you told me about. The one that attacked your wife.”  
  
Stein's jaw tightened, but he gave a single nod, urging her to spit it out.

“Well, this might seem like a silly question, but...have you looked for him at all? I mean, do you have anything to go off of, did anyone happen to give you a description?” Caitlin wound the heels of her hands against each other, meeting his twinkling dark eyes.  
  
“Not as such, no,” Stein murmured. He lifted a finger, heading for his desk and straightening it up a bit as he spoke. “But there are witnesses from that terrible night, people who saw what Clarissa saw. The trouble is, the culprit seems to have distorted his own person too quickly before anyone could get a good look at him. No one can give me a clear image.”  
  
Caitlin paused, trying to think of the best way to tell him. She couldn't just say _Yeah, his name is Kyle Nimbus and I have somewhere perfect to stash him_. Even someone with as open a mind as Stein would write her off as a lunatic; it was too soon, she needed more time to nail things down. But he had to have some kind of hope. She couldn't stand by and watch him drown in his problem when she knew there may actually be an answer.

“Professor,” she began, clearing her throat. “I wanted—”

Stein smiled at her, but it was a thin one. “I do not ask for pity, Miss Snow. Don't get me wrong. Clarissa's predicament is my burden to bear, and I'd hate to be accused of complaining. Everyone has their own weight to carry, and mine is no greater than yours.” His brow furrowed. “Or Mister Jefferson there.”   
  
He strode purposefully to the sleeping boy, picked up the student's binder, and rapped him soundly over the head with it in one hand.  
  
'Mister Jefferson', only roughly 18 or 19 by the looks of him, jolted upright with a yelp.

“Jefferson, how can the mysteries of the universe set your young mind ablaze if you won't even prepare a spot for the fire, hmm?”  
  
Jefferson squinted at his professor. “Did I fall asleep again?” he slurred, clearly suffering from a case of napper's-mouth.

Stein's eyebrows rose so high they could've graced the arching metal ceiling. “Again?”  
  
Caitlin bit her lip, but it wasn't because something was bothering her. She was trying very hard not to laugh at the groggy kid's expression. “I'll see you tomorrow, Professor,” she called. She could tell him about her plans later. Besides, this gave her more time to sort out the details first.

Stein was too busy giving poor Jefferson a _second_ , more biting lecture to see her leave.

* * *

Savitar was hungry and unashamed.

Before, when he had been in the thick of convincing the world he was a god, he had had to eat anything and everything in secret locations. Because gods did not need to eat. They didn't feel pain and they didn't need to eat, but until he could actually become immortal, he had to appease his superhuman appetite discretely. If someone saw the God of Speed downing twenty-five Big Belly Burgers, no matter how impressively, they might start to question his title.

Now, having given up on being a god, he was free to eat wherever and whenever he wanted, regardless of prying eyes. Did it look odd to see a speedster in a dark leather suit lounging on the roof of a Wendy's with a chocolate frosty and forty discarded fry cartons beside him? Cartons he sometimes dropped over the edge onto passers-by out of sheer boredom? Yes. Not as odd as it would have looked in his previous, metal suit—which had been laid to rest, dormant, in his old lair on Earth-1—but the sight was still fairly ridiculous.

As a speedster, his body required far more energy, far more _calories_ than the average runner did. And when he ate enough, he'd just burn it off within the next 24 hours. Result: he, just like Barry, Wally, Jesse, and Jay, was always, _always_ hungry. He simply didn't have to worry about who knew it anymore. It was a freeing sensation.

Today was quiet in Earth-66's Central City. He'd taken to exploring when things were quiet here. This Earth had a few differences in location—certain shops and gas stations were not where they were supposed to be, and the explosion from Earth-66's particle accelerator had actually permanently compromised some of the plant life closer to S.T.A.R. Labs' neck of the neighborhood. There was definitely a tang in the air that wasn't going away any time soon—he felt it inside of him, in his meta half, he sensed the energy of this Earth rippling with the aftertaste of an experiment gone wrong. Without anyone to race over and rescue, he didn't have anything to do but think. And a duplicate had a lot of thinking to do.

Caitlin had been right. He didn't want to be forgotten. In fact, he was terrified of it. He _was_ playing hero to keep people looking. Did he feel a spark, a splash of satisfaction when someone took his hand as he pulled them from some kind of wreckage? When they looked at him from far away and mouthed _thank you_ after he had chased off the danger and kept his distance? He did—but not the way Barry Allen used to.

It was as if his heart were a painter's palette. When Team Flash of 2024 had turned their backs on him, they had each taken a color out, until only black and gray were left, until all he felt was the bitterness and

the loneliness. Now, every time he helped someone, a drop of color was added to the empty sockets. Just one drop in one area, but it was something where there had been nothing. It was a strange sensation, recognizing feelings he'd smothered for eons. It was stranger to think of how he should respond to gaining them. Mostly he felt hard and broken still, reluctant to tap into any positive emotions he might feel lest they go away too.   
  
He had been colorless for such a while—red, yellow, blue, green—any new shade might hurt, and he was so tired of hurting.

Caitlin hadn't interrupted him on the comms all day. It was night now, and Wendy's had closed an hour ago. He ran down the side of the building, knowing his governess would be on her way back from Stein's little sci-fi convention by now. He would make it to S.T.A.R. Labs before she did, which meant he'd get to head to bed without being asked a barrage of questions regarding the day's activities.  
  
She had been aloof with him for the past few days, ever since he'd caught Rory—at the expense of a shoulder. Not that she hadn't always been aloof with him. But more so lately, more so since she'd had her little relapse of missing _Barry_ while she stitched him back up. He didn't miss her nagging or her constant staring when she thought he wasn't watching. But it was true that the absence was suddenly an obvious thing to him, that now he _noticed_ it. He noticed she wasn't in the Cortex unless she was tending to Wally. He noticed she wasn't on the comms when he went on little missions. He noticed she was at Jitters more often, noticed she was calling Team Flash more and more frequently in the mornings. He could hear her talking to them; S.T.A.R. Labs' sleeping quarters were all in the same general area of the building. Her conversations with Earth-1's heroes ran longer every time she contacted them.   
  
He couldn't understand her. He couldn't understand her desire to help him—unless she wanted to _fix_ him, as he had suspected all along. There wasn't a point, anyone could see that. Her little Team Flash-66 idea was off to a pretty rough start. Stein only met with her once every other day, and probably wasn't at all in the know for it. Wally was almost fully recovered by now, so he'd be leaving the Labs soon, and he knew only a sand grain more than Stein did. If Caitlin couldn't build him a team—and he didn't _do_ domestic labor—what could she hope to do for him here? Hadn't he made it difficult enough?  
  
Trees and highways blurred past as he made his way to S.T.A.R. Labs, catching sight of the sickly yellow electricity following him, reflected in the windows of cars rendered still as he raced past.  
  
As aforementioned—a dead horse beaten thoroughly—he remembered being Barry. There is a _lot_ in one person's memory, and being a time remnant didn't diminish the flashbacks. It increased them, because there was an added awareness, an awareness that none of it had actually been experienced by _this_ body, _this_ mind.  
  
Specifically, he remembered being _Caitlin's_ Barry, the one that made her snarl and huff, the one that had her running no matter what she was wearing or how far away he was, because she had to get to him and help him up, stop the bleeding. He remembered a face without scars that she wasn't afraid to get physically close to when the situation called for it, a face she didn't shield herself from with her hair or turning on a heel.   
  
He remembered looking at Caitlin Snow and seeing a mountain, something immovable and powerful. He had meant it when he said Barry Allen was safe when she was around. He could recall being unable to breathe or unable to walk, often tasting blood, less often coughing out an unknown, superhuman substance. And whenever everything was dangerous and spinning like that, if she came into the room, onto the side of the road, at the edge of a body of water, in the back of a van with her doctor's instruments at the ready, he was completely okay. He was calm again, because if Caitlin was there, he knew that soon—in a few hours or just a second more of pain—none of it would matter anymore and he'd be back to normal.   
  
And that was just the physical assurances. Emotionally, if he couldn't find his footing, she was there every time. She wasn't the only person he'd gone to to feel balanced again, but there was something in her that understood him better than the others. Caitlin had been through so much suffering, and she'd come out of it, and when she spoke to him he could feel her quietly _sure_ he would come out of it too. Even as their conversations began, just by hearing her, he would breathe more evenly. He was being convinced, maybe even subconsciously, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and that her footsteps, leading unsteadily to the exit, were already printed in the mud before he'd stepped into the dark himself.

He had, in his head, an entire three years' worth of friendship with this woman and, like with everything else Barry had left his remnant, Savitar had to learn to process and discard those memories. Because ultimately those were things he had never done and never felt and never said. _All_ of it was. Not just with Caitlin Snow. With everyone, everything. None of it was actually his—no wonder there had been no room for him on Earth-1; everything he recalled as his, in reality, already belonged to someone else. Iris, Joe, Wally, Cisco, Caitlin, S.T.A.R. Labs, the CCPD. It hurt to remember having a place somewhere, having people of his own, and to be hit with the fact that—every time—Barry Allen possessed every inch of it.  
  
And he wasn't Barry Allen.

He had to find his own common ground with Doctor Snow, but wearing someone else's face made it even harder than it should have been. She knew him and she didn't. They were both dealing with the same bizarre obstacle. Where it made her nervous, struggling to regain control of the situation, it just made him angry. Angry that he had to be reminded _again_ that he had been born with a life he wasn't allowed to pull up as a reference guide. Angry that she couldn't look at him and treat him the way his memory told him she should treat him. Angry that she had insisted on coming here, on meddling and simpering and ordering him around. Trying to turn him into someone he had already been shown he couldn't be. She wanted to rewrite him into Barry Allen—and he was torn between wanting her to treat him that way and wanting her to stop wishing he was someone else. He remembered being friends with Caitlin. He wasn't used to her disappointment. It irritated him.

But time had taught him not to care this much about it. Caring made you hurt in the long run. It was cliché, but the best way to guard himself from the agony and the eventual hate that had ripped him in two and killed H.R. was to keep his distance. So he wouldn't dwell on it. Despite Caitlin being the only person from the core Team Flash to be left with him on Earth-66, despite everything inside him being naturally drawn to her for this reason, he would lean away. He would warn her backward with looks and growls and bullet wounds. He didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want her advice. He didn't want her company or her time or her agenda for him. He didn't need her. She was extra, she was optional, and in order to keep the possibility of rejection at bay without becoming a god, he would let her be aloof. He would let her learn the hard way, slowly as she liked, that he would not be her experiment. That she didn't know him and she was just like the others—preferring the original, only room for one Barry. Conditional.

By the time he reached S.T.A.R. Labs, he was hungry again. Caitlin had a kind of addiction to strawberry Jell-O, he knew. He also knew it was always located in the mini fridge on the dais in the Cortex.

With his costume still on, he snagged a cup of Jell-O and a plastic spoon. Of course, it was empty in half a second, and as he was reaching for a second cup, a voice stopped him.

“I knew it.”  
  
Savitar's arms swung down, his weight shifted from foot to foot, his head hung back. Body language equivalent of a sigh.   
  
Wally was sitting up, legs hanging off the gurney he had been confined to, eyes on the speedster with something fragile shaking in them. Something similar to what his acolytes had when they looked at him. Hero worship.  
  
“I knew you were still here,” Wally went on, pointing to him shakily. “She said you were out there helping people, but she never said you lived here.”  
  
Savitar scowled, vibrating his body so that no distinctive physical qualities could be seen. “What makes you think I live here?”  
  
Wally's eyes strayed to the plastic spoon that had clattered to the floor. “You're—eatin' Jell-O.”  
  
The speedster dropped the empty cup, folding his arms. “What do you want, Wallace?”  
  
West's eyebrows shot up, his voice cracked. “You know my name? I mean—I mean, my name's _Wally_ , nobody calls me...uh, Wallace.”

Savitar rolled his eyes, which was difficult to do when vibrating one's eyeballs. “I know who you are. _What_ do you _want_?” He gestured to Wally's general area. “You're basically healed. Free to go. Why are you still here?”  
  
Wally licked his lips. “I've been stalling,” he finally admitted, offering a small grin.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I wanted to see you,” the boy blurted. “I couldn't just leave without...” He took a deep breath, obviously very nervous, and started again. “Look, you saved my life. You didn't have to—Caitlin told me you were trying to stop the guy who did it. He got away. Because you went to help me.” Wally exhaled, staring at the speedster for a moment before finishing seriously, “I'm not worth that—but you saved me anyway. So...thank you.” He pursed his lips. “I'm not gonna throw away the chance you gave me.”  
  
Savitar let his arms unfold, dropping them. He remembered hearing that same phrase from Earth-1's Wally once, on Jitters' rooftop. He'd given up his _abilities_ for this wide-eyed engineer barely in college. That was before he knew what Wally was really like. Before he discovered that Barry Allen's face and memories and feelings were not enough to draw compassion from. Before he'd been told, by a Wally that had barely been able to think a coherent _thought_ and still managed to out him as a duplicate, that they were not brothers.

It was that nigh-catatonic Wally, in Joe West's living room, that he saw sitting on that gurney. Not this Earth's slightly shorter, quieter version in the yellow jacket.   
  
“You're right,” he said musingly. “You're not worth it.”

Wally's expression froze and stuttered, but it didn't die out. Savitar had been searching for the same loss he'd once felt at West's words on that face, but he was to be disappointed. Wally seemed to think Savitar was spewing some kind of heroic wisdom, that he was making a valiant, sobering point.

“I know. I know, but I'm gonna do my best to _be_ worth it,” Wally decided aloud, nodding. “I'm gonna get as close as I can, right? Like you.”  
  
“Like me?” Savitar laughed, harsh and short.

“Yeah. You're fast—like, you've got super speed.” Wally glanced over a shoulder at the wall monitors. “You're all over the news, man. You're a legend—this shadow that runs around helping people just cuz he can? That's how I wanna be. I wanna do more.” He was smiling again. It was infuriating.  
  
“Really?” Savitar stopped vibrating, but he kept his distance. “Good luck. Because _this—_ ”

 In a flash of electricity, he was out of the room. Out of the building. Out of the city. All the way to Keystone.

 A heartbeat had passed, and he tossed a small box of pizza into Wally's lap. “—is not something you should try at home.”  
  
Wally gaped at the warm cardboard slab. “Woah.” He opened it and took a slice of pizza out, responding between bites, “I know. And believe me, I wouldn't try it even if I could. Speed—” He swallowed, wiping tomato sauce from his lower lip with a thumb. “That's not me.”  
  
Savitar quelled the surprise in his voice. “' _Not you_ ',” he repeated, dumbfounded.  
  
“Yeah, um...” Wally's eyes were on the pizza joint's logo, pasted to the side of the box. He glanced furtively at Savitar. “I don't like going too fast, you know?”  
  
Savitar looked at him as if he had grown a third nostril.

Another swallow. “So—when I was nine,” he set down his pizza, speaking a little more clearly now, “my mom got in a car accident. It was raining, we were on the highway on the way home from school. We were already late for dinner, so she broke the speed limit—she starts hydroplaning. We spun out of control—ended up crashing into someone else.”   
  
The former God of Speed raised his eyebrows, the only emotion he showed at the story.

Wally's tone got louder, more confident, eager to be talking to the man that had rescued him at last. “We were spinning _so_ quick....I remember I didn't think we'd stop moving ever again.” He shrugged. “We survived—I got a couple stitches outta the deal, so that was a cool story to tell my friends. But uh,” he cleared his throat. “I never wanted to go that fast again.”

Savitar narrowed his eyes. “You're afraid of speed.” He lifted a finger, pointing underhand at the boy. “Wouldn't that make you afraid of driving, though?” He smirked.

Wally's shrug rose to his jawline. “Hey, you don't get to pick your phobias. Long as _I_ don't go over the speed limit, I can handle it.”

The speedster turned, moving for the exit. “You can walk again. You're breathing. There's no reason for you to be here anymore.”  
  
“Hold up—” Wally slid off of the gurney, to Savitar's surprise, and hurried after him. The burn marks were pale against his face, fading already. “Isn't there something I can do to help you guys? I know Caitlin's got you wired when you're out there. I've seen her telling you what to do. I can do that too—like, when she's not here, like right now.”  
  
He sounded so desperate to be heard, Savitar practically squirmed with pleasure at the chance to shoot him down. Once upon a time, the roles were reversed; he too had begged, and he'd been sent away. He'd wanted to do this for over a lifetime. Trapping Wally in the Speed Force had been good, but there was something about this—even if it was one-sided—that was just so deliciously deliberate.   
  
“Go home, Wallace,” Savitar tossed carelessly over his shoulder. “There's nothing for you in S.T.A.R. Labs.”  
  
West stopped walking. “It's Wally,” he said firmly, and the speedster turned to look at him. “And I know you can use me somehow. I want you to. Caitlin said you're looking for extra hands, like a team. I can be your first recruit.” He smiled, unfazed. “I'm pretty good with my hands.”

Those Iris-dark eyes, that little quirk of the mouth, the yellow that was so like Kid Flash's costume. The tone he used when he was beating Barry at a game of _Halo Reach_ , when he was going to race the Flash across the city, when he was Joe's first choice in Charades on Family Game Night. What had once been warmth, fondness, pride—it curdled, turning to rage and utter dislike.  
  
A rattling sigh, a shaking of the head that made his mask chafe against his scarred ear. “No matter which one I'm talking to, you still think you're some kind of gift to the world.” Savitar strode up to Wally, looking down with undisguised contempt. “You're not burnt. Your back's as good as new. You're taking up space and you're wasting my time. You don't belong here, Wally West. Get out. Go. _Home_.”  
  
He sped from the Cortex. He'd only been indoors for roughly twenty minutes and already he needed some air.


	14. The Right To Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even gods aren't immune to nightmares.

There was a yell echoing through Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs on a Saturday night. 

Caitlin was made only partially aware of the first one, half-in and half-out of sleep. She had to really consider the physical ramifications of taking night classes under Stein. She was used to all-nighters back home, on her Earth, because there was almost always an emergency that required her skills long after dark. But Stein's lectures were just early enough in the night hours to throw her body's sleep schedule completely off. Thus she was more exhausted than usual; her brain didn't recognize the sound for what it was.

Not until she heard it again. Then she was wide awake, throwing the blankets off and pulling on her lab coat for warmth. It was the closest thing to her on her way out into the corridor, and in a building made largely of metal in autumn, it was wise to don extra layers.

She was halfway to the Cortex before she remembered—Wally had recovered. He had gone home. Home to his mother, who was, to Caitlin's delight, very much alive on this Earth. But she had been livid, obviously, upon discovering that West's hero was the one who had ordered him out.

“Last I checked, I was his doctor, and he isn't cleared to leave until I say he is!” Caitlin had hissed to the speedster.

The former God of Speed was less than apologetic. “You can't keep him when there's nothing wrong with him. And there's nothing for him here,” he had added pointedly, a fight on the edge of every word.

She couldn't argue with the former half of his retort. Wally was better, and he wouldn't stay if his rescuer didn't want him. She'd sent him on his way—he'd promised to visit whenever he could, but he wasn't welcome any longer to stay the night. So it couldn't be the boy who was not Kid Flash making such distressing noises. And there was only one other person in the building.

Savitar's room was even barer than hers. Where she had laid out her clothes and a few of her things from home to make it seem more familiar, Savitar seemed to have deliberately kept everything the way the past employees here had left it. The only signs of life were a small table against the east wall, with a few average workman's tools splayed across it, and—of course—the room's sole occupant, tossing and turning in his cot with his day clothes still on. The Flash suit was carelessly hanging over the end of the bed.

Caitlin realized, catching sight of him, that until now she hadn't believed he actually slept. It was fine to joke about it with Cisco when they were alone, on a universe she recognized, but looking at him here...it suddenly seemed unfair. Of course he slept. He was still only human—or a metahuman—despite his own best efforts. Speedster or no, villain or reluctant hero, he needed as much rest as anyone else did.

Unfortunately, there is a difference between sleeping and resting.

Savitar was sleeping. Sleeping was when you closed your eyes and you laid down and you dove into your own subconscious, your body shutting out background noises in an attempt to recharge. Resting was when you actually recharged, when you successfully lost consciousness and your body prepared itself for the next day, usually over the course of at least six hours.

Barry Allen's time remnant was not recharging. He was clearly locked in the throes of an intense nightmare.

Trying to swallow her initial surprise—embarrassed to admit to herself that she hadn't ever thought of him experiencing REM the way the average person did, either—Caitlin moved cautiously to the bedside.

Savitar's hair was off his forehead, and without it hanging down in his eyes slightly, like some cliché anime protagonist, he looked more like Barry than ever. It also helped that though there was enough moonlight to make out details, none of it was on the side of the room that his scars were facing. Still, it was just as unnerving to see Barry having bad dreams as it was to see Savitar have them. 

His body shuddered and rocked on the cot; he was hardly using the blankets provided anymore. Gingerly, she tried to take his hand and shake it loosely, in an attempt to wake him, only to find that his palms were very sweaty. Clammy, actually. And there was something odd...her eyes widened. They were too warm. His skin was burning hot, and he wasn't under the covers, and the room was ice cold...

She was a professional. She knew her patients well. There had been zero sign of the flu or a cold the day before, so there was really just one explanation for his temperature. She reached over and pulled the collar of his gray shirt away from him, only hard enough to see his left shoulder, his most recent injury.

His thrashing around must have disturbed his fragile wound, because he'd somehow opened it again. It wasn't awful by any means—she was not going to have to return to the med bay for another happy gunshot session. A stitch or two—or five—had come undone and his injury had been exposed to frigid night air and a frankly musty deserted bedroom. The hole was not mended enough, even with his healing properties, not to be agitated by this yet. There were signs that told her it had bled while he slept, probably because he'd jostled it, but that was dry now, dark dark brownish. 

It must have been hurting him, though, because he kept making small whimpers as he lay there, and the unstitched shoulder came up off the mattress in subconscious irritation more than once. Those were the whimpers Barry made when he dislocated something or, less often, when Iris was upset with him. Caitlin was one of the few people who knew he could whimper, superhero specimen that he was—even Barry himself was unaware of it, and probably would have made a nice effort never to make the sound again if he knew.

So the God of Speed was not only suffering from a nightmare, now he was suffering from physical pain, too. She couldn't decide which was worse, biting her lip as she looked from his wound to his tortured expression.

If there was one thing Caitlin hated, it was a nightmare. She was used to controlling everything—mostly. But nightmares were unavoidable, unexpected, and utterly uncontrollable, down to the last foggy frame. There may have been science behind it, but science couldn't make it go away. Watching someone else—anyone else—caught in their own mind like that caused her to do what she did best: try very forcefully to help.

Carefully avoiding the shoulder, Caitlin went around to the other side of the cot and put a hand on the opposite arm. Its muscles were tense, and she thought he might even have been vibrating a little in his discomfort; it was like holding one of Cisco's old Gamecube controllers. She joggled him, but he had stopped moving for the most part; only his face showed he was still in distress. Caitlin put both hands on his arm now, pulling.

“Savitar!”

She had barely gotten his name out before he sat bolt upright, breathing hard. She expected a wave of wrath, and probably another snarky comment about her lovely bedhead. Or a complaint about how late it was. But he didn't give her any of that. 

Instead, one green eye bloodshot, the first thing out of his mouth was, “God, your hands are like ice!” 

He glanced up at her, hair back in his eyes, and she could see by the glazed pupils and the way he squinted that he was not completely awake yet—or that the fever his injury had generated was putting him out of his own mind. 

“Caitlin?” He said it quietly, very confused. It was riding on a tired breath, the way Barry would say it, and her heart expanded, reminded of his origins. It had been two and a half weeks since she'd heard anything other Doctor Snow in that voice, at least in person. “What are you doing? Where are—why are you here?”

“You were—”

He had barely given her time to respond before he let out a sharp exclamation, a mix of agh and ow, clapping his right hand to the left shoulder of his tee shirt. Pushing cotton into the half-open wound did not do him any favors, as one could imagine.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows apologetically. “That's why. You split a few stitches.”

Savitar winced, rolling his sleeve up to look at the source of his pain. He glared at it. “I'm not going to the—” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. His voice rose. “The—your—” The tiniest of snorts escaped him, frustrated.

Forgetting terms, fluctuating volume. Definitely the fever. He wasn't completely lucid. Just a feather of sympathy burst through for him, and she offered helpfully, “The med bay?”

He exhaled, relieved. “Yes.” The speedster's voice cracked as if his throat were too dry.

“You're not,” she agreed, sighing. “I just have to clean around it and stitch it up again. I can do all that here. Let me get my bag.”

He had fallen asleep again when she came back. He really did do everything quickly. He didn't seem to be dreaming anymore. Or that was what she assumed, before nudging him awkwardly on the arm with the back of a hand this time, hoping that might be warmer. The way he gasped and hurled up again made her retract her assumption.

“If you open this again,” Caitlin told him, leaning down to commence stitching, “at least suck it up until sunrise.” She wasn't in a joking mood at 3 AM, but he seemed to think this was funny.

“No promises,” he chortled, grimacing.

It was almost exactly like treating Barry. The duplicate seemed too tired to add any bite to his bark. When Caitlin finished, she cleared her throat, nodding to his pillows in as authoritative a way she could manage. “All set. Go back to sleep—your wound induced a premature fever, but it should clear up in an hour or two if you rest.”

Savitar didn't close his eyes or even lay down. Instead he stared at her. Trying to prove she was no longer intimidated by him, she stared back. But that didn't last long, of course, because she was herself. He watched her so intensely that she started fidgeting, and when she couldn't take it anymore, she snapped. It was too early for this little power play.

“Did you hear me? You need to go to sleep. You're not a god, you need your rest.”

“I'm try—Caitlin—” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of a hand. “I need rest.”

“Right,” Caitlin agreed patiently, setting her bag down. “And I do too, so just try to—” Wait a minute. Caitlin again. Stuttering. She peered at him, squinting in the dark. “Savitar? Are you...awake? Do you understand me?”

It was a ridiculous way to check. She knew full well that if his fever was taking him out of it, he wouldn't be able to truthfully answer her. But this was a grown man with extraordinary abilities, not a little boy sleepwalking. Even with her intellect, knowing how to read the signs, it was hard to tell just from his tone and his mannerisms whether he was actually solid or not.

“Yes,” Savitar hissed. “Yes, I told—I told you I'm not—” He blinked hard, several times, clearly struggling to regain control of his faculties. “Why are you in here?” he repeated, louder.

Caitlin struggled to remain patient. His tone had become harsh again. “You opened your bullet wound,” she intoned. “I had to stitch it back up. Not two minutes ago.”

“No.” Savitar swallowed, dry mouth bothering him. “You didn't hear it open,” he growled. He pointed to the door. “From your room.”

Caitlin glanced at the door herself, as if he actually wanted her to see something in that direction. She shook her head. “You're right,” she admitted. “I heard you yelling. In your sleep. I came to help.”

Savitar's eyes focused a little more at that. “You can't help me,” he whispered, unfeelingly. Matter-of-factly.

She didn't respond, watching him. 

“Might as well get up. I'm not gonna get any more sleep with this all night,” Savitar finally announced, nodding to his shoulder. He seemed to be a little more awake now.

“I don't think you were yelling because of that,” Caitlin commented quietly.

Savitar didn't tear his gaze from his shoulder, but he was still, listening to her.

“I also didn't think the God of Speed could get nightmares,” she added, taking a step nearer.

He snorted. “He probably can't. Too bad I'm not a god, huh?” His milky eye glittered up at her, contemptuous.

“What was it about?”

“Nope.” He spoke over her. Savitar shook his head hard, a half-smile forming. “Not doing that. Go back to sleep, Doctor Snow, I don't need a therapy session.” He lay on his side, turning his back to her, folding his arms tight.

Caitlin pursed her lips. She was just as stubborn as he was. She didn't know what made her keep trying, what made her go around to the other side of the bed to face him. Maybe it was the echo of her friend still hanging over him, or simply that she was so used to helping everyone that she couldn't turn it off.

His eyes were open, and they struck her as if she had insulted him by coming into view. “Studies show it's difficult to sleep when someone's staring at you, Caitlin,” he grunted.

Encouraged by the use of her first name, her eyebrows puckered in a way that was meant to show sympathy. “I've had my fair share of nightmares, you know. Becoming Killer Frost. Watching Ronnie die. Zoom. Sometimes I even dream I'm being chased by dolls,” she offered, cracking a smile. 

She sat on the side of the bed, but as soon as she did, he rocketed up. 

“You don't understand,” he told her, almost sounding amused. “You think dolls and ice powers are bad?” He pressed two fingers in between his eyebrows, pulling them away to gesture aimlessly. “I spent centuries trapped in the Speed Force, in Barry's prison built specially for me. You know what I saw in there?”

Caitlin stared up at him, too shocked he was actually sharing to form a sentence. She leaned backward a little, waiting.

“I saw you.” Savitar pointed at her, hard. Angrily. “I saw Wally, Joe, Cisco. I saw Iris.” He tilted his head at her, narrowing his eyes. “I found out there are about two billion ways to be rejected—and that's just by one person. Imagine a whole team of people, abandoning you for eternity. He threw me away to live out the worst day of my life over and over and over again, and when I got out,” he practically grinned now, “I thought I'd be free. I was so tired. But it turns out I get to press replay.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “Every night. Guess I didn't suffer enough in the Speed Force.”

She didn't know what to say. How did you respond to that? She just watched him, trying to picture Cisco turning him away. Trying to picture him as Barry again. Trying to picture any of them shunning him. Once again, it was nearly impossible. Even after everything he'd already done, they had saved him. No Team Flash, no matter what they had gone through, would turn away someone who needed their help. Especially not someone with Barry's face and Barry's memories. But the look in his eyes told her it had absolutely happened, and that he felt it with every heartbeat. He couldn't be lying. It was the one thing he actually seemed passionate about.

Untangling her mind, struggling to find the right words, she said, “Sometimes...talking it out can take the weight off. I can help you.”

Savitar didn't move. He watched her back. “Why?” was all he said.

“Why?”

“Why are you helping me? Why are you here?” When she opened her mouth to ask, he cut her off by adding, “Not—in my room. On this Earth, why? Why did you come here?”

Here was something she could answer with confidence. Something clear and firm. “Because it's the right thing to do.”

Savitar let out a long oooh under his breath, mouth an O, looking at the wall as if he just couldn't believe her. “Come on,” he said, prompting, shaking his head.

“I'm serious!” Caitlin's eyebrows rose, her voice rose, she almost stood up off the bed.

“There has to be another reason.” He was speaking over her again, over the tail of her words. “There's something in it for you.”

Caitlin's face hardened, and she glanced up at him determinedly. “There isn't. Believe it or not, people can do things for others without gaining anything for themselves. You want to start over, and—I know what that feels like. I can help you, you need—”

“Don't.” He held up a finger, warningly, almost tauntingly. “Don't. I don't need you.”

Caitlin spread her palms on her knees. “I was going to say you need friends,” she muttered. “You need people beside you, or this won't work.”

“I had people beside me,” Savitar snapped, turning at last to look her full in the face. “And they tossed me away. You can say it wasn't me, but I remember.” He closed his eyes, casting back, and Caitlin saw the ghost of the true Flash passing over him, when the anger drained from his expression, when he called memories to the forefront of his mind. “I remember getting struck by lightning. I remember meeting Wells—all of them. Moving in with Joe. The first time Cisco vibed, fighting Grodd, helping Wally with his homework.” He opened his eyes, lifting his chin in her direction. “You.”

Caitlin blinked, thrown by the emotion in his gaze.

“I remember meeting Ronnie, and how scared you were when he showed up again. I remember your face when he didn't come back from the Singularity.”

“Stop it,” Caitlin whispered, glancing out the window, not meeting his mismatched eyes. He remembered what wasn't his. She didn't like reliving certain things any more than he did.

He didn't stop it. He went on. “The day you got your little necklace, when you yelled at me for meeting Iris on top of Jitters.” A little chortle puffed out. “Oh—you told Eddie I was emotionally unstable because of the lightning, 'member that? How about when we went to that bar, and you did all the drinking—”

“Stop!”

“What was that song you dragged me up there to sing?” Savitar paused, then hit his head with the heel of a hand. He pointed lazily at her, as if it really did just come to him. A small smile came to his face, and it wasn't clear in the dark whether it was sinister or not. His voice was laced with the same ups and downs little brothers used when they insisted they weren't doing anything, all while poking and teasing their sisters. “Summer lovin'...”

Caitlin stood up. “That's enough.”

Savitar showed her his palms. “That wasn't you, that was Barry Allen!” He mimicked her speech patterns, but his own voice stayed the same. He folded his arms. “Funny how much it feels like it was me, though. You haven't thought about how much I know, have you? How much I have to ignore.”

Caitlin's mouth tightened. He was standing there in his tee shirt, hair messy, and in the half light she could so easily believe she was talking to the Flash. Her Barry, with the same tired rasp, the same lackluster posture too early in the morning. But the scars and the one blue eye and the sound of a metal spear going clean through H.R.'s body told her she was dead wrong.

He seemed to read her mind. “See? You get to look at me and—” He mimed something flying out of his mind with a hand, shrugging. “You don't have to remember any of it. But I look at you...” He was nearer now, coming around to her side of the cot. “I look at Wally. And I see a whole life with you, all of you, that I don't get to talk about.” He pursed his lips, expression perfectly communicating oh well! “I don't get to mention it. It's not my place, I don't have the right. It makes you angry. You still see a villain when you look at me.”

“No.” Caitlin found her voice at last, quick with indignancy. “That's not true, I don't—I don't see a villain. Not anymore.”

Savitar's whole body seemed to freeze, just for a heartbeat, and he stood facing her, waiting. He was actually confused; she had managed to give him pause. “Then what do you see?” he demanded, carefully, as if he already knew the answer.

Caitlin bit her lip. It took her a moment to reply, thinking it over. “I don't know.”

He exhaled, rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, exasperated.

She hurried to finish her thought before he could shut down again. “I do know you're trying to be different,” she offered. “I know you want to put it all...behind you. But you're doing it the wrong way.”

Savitar cocked his head at her, disbelieving.

“You think you can change by yourself. You can't. Barry needed friends, he needed his family to help him. In everything. You need that too.” She folded her arms. “Whether you look like him or not.”

His let his shoulders bounce with a slight wince and slid his hands into his pockets. “What if you're wrong? If Barry's family didn't want me, what makes you think anyone else will?” He seemed to think he'd delivered a Trump card, something she couldn't get past. His back was straight, face stiff.

“You'll never know unless you take a chance,” Caitlin told him breezily.

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, calculating. His shell had been cracked, she could feel it, and for the moment he wasn't making any attempts to seal it back up. His breath still smelled like strawberry Jell-O.

Caitlin took a deep breath, finally heading for the door. “You can start your day at 4 in the morning if you want,” she sighed, picking up her medical bag. “But as your physician, I don't recommend it.”

She was almost at the exit when he stopped her.

“Stay.” Savitar said it in a giving-up tone, something very close to annoyed. Really, it was almost an order, the same way you'd call a child back to you after they'd 'snuck' something out of your backpack, assuming you didn't know. He hadn't turned to watch her go and was standing in the same place he had been seconds ago; his voice was loud and wide awake.

Caitlin halted instantly, wondering if she'd heard him properly. “What?” she said, giving him a chance to retract it, almost warning him. She couldn't help being suspicious.

He dropped onto the cot, folding his arms across his chest, upper half propped up on the headboard. Like a moody preschooler being told that if he wasn't going to nap, he at least had to lie down quietly for a while. “Stay in here,” he elaborated throatily. “Until I fall asleep.”

Caitlin's eyebrows went to her hairline. Her fingers curled in, lifting her hands. “Are you...giving me an order?”

“Yes.”

She was searching for a retort, flabbergasted that he would dare, when he finally explained himself.

“You want me to stay in bed, this is how it's gonna go.” He watched her walk back toward the end of the cot. “I'm not gonna get any rest if I have that dream again, so you get to babysit.”

“Is that so?” Caitlin was not entirely sure how to proceed, what kind of tone she should use. This was uncharted ground. Another unexpected turn of events. She was losing her touch as S.T.A.R. Labs' resident control freak.

If it was possible to shrug an elbow, he was doing it, arms still tightly crossed. “If it happens, you wake me up.”

Caitlin's eyebrows knit, she debated, looking off to the side, hands gripping the base of the bed's metal frame. Her slippers were making her feet sweaty after being worn this long. 

Interrupting what was fast becoming a long, detailed list of pros and cons in her head, Savitar added, “You said you wanted to help me, right?”

She met his eyes, fully engaged at this point. Nodding very slightly, still feeling incredibly out of her element. It was sort of an out-of-body experience, what was happening right now. The God of Speed, the big bad, needed someone to stay with him until he fell asleep. In seconds he'd gone from bitter tirades to nonchalant bodyguard employment.

“You win,” Caitlin said, putting a brave face on it. She pulled the stool by the worktable to the side of the bed, stifling a yawn as she sat down. “We can't have Earth-66's resident hero too tired to work.”

Savitar closed his eyes, shifting a little, getting comfortable but still remaining in that stubborn position, legs crossed as well as his arms now. After two minutes of silence, just when Caitlin was wondering how she'd pass the time, her name drifted in, though he hadn't moved at all.

“Caitlin.”

“Yes?” 

Probably too much to hope for a thank you.

“Don't touch me.” His eyebrows came down. “Your hands are freezing.”

Definitely too much to hope for. “Excuse me?” She couldn't suppress an indignant huff, not quite a laugh, but not actually negative. She couldn't deny her own body temperature. She had cold powers, it was self-condemning. “It is 50 degrees Fahrenheit in this room—”

“I don't care how bad my nightmare gets. If you touch me with those Killer Frost fingers again—” More talking over her. She could play that game too.

Caitlin lifted an arm to slap against her thigh. “How do you want me to wake you up, with a foghorn?”

He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you serious right now?”

For some reason, she was trying not to laugh. Probable the surreality of the situation. “You act like the sudden cold wouldn't be an effective—”

“Look, this is not hard—”

“You wanted me to wake you up, this is the easiest—”

“I'm not arguing about this with you!” Was it a trick of the moonlight, or did she see the quirk of Barry's trying-to-be-serious smile? “Hands off. Okay?” Muttering, he added, “Unbelievable.”

It was such a familiar phrase coming from that mouth, she relented. Caitlin folded her hands on her lap. “Understood. Hands off the metahuman.”

He closed his eyes again.

Caitlin waited a few seconds, but it was too late. Her brain wouldn't be quiet. She was a scientist, her only patient was actually in the same room with her for once, and it was 4:35 AM. “Can I ask you something?”

The air hissed out of him. “It's Savitar's bedtime, Caitlin.”

“Are you...blind in your left eye?”

“What?” It came out as a groan. Eyes still shut.

“The damaged half of your body, the—one fogged eye. It's similar to a cataract, but it doesn't drift.” She was babbling, fighting exhaustion. “And it has the same premature coloring a newborn's eyes have before adjusting to sight. Can you see out of it?”

“Not when it's closed.”

“I was thinking if—”

“Caitlin.”

“Right. Sorry.” She cleared her throat, lapsing back into silence.

She saw him swallow, squirming slightly again, getting prepared to try and sleep once more. There was no clock in the room, but if there were, she had a feeling its ticking would be deafening. She should have brought a clipboard, she should have been looking over her notes from Stein's classes. She at least could've retrieved her phone before agreeing to sit here. She might have been productive, researched this Earth's Kyle Nimbus. Instead the only thing to look at, to occupy her time with, was the speedster doing his best to get some rest.

Barry did, in fact, look good in black. Wearing baggy clothes, though, made him seem younger, like a skater boy, and seeing Savitar slouching back on the cot just fueled the similarities. She watched his breathing slow, wondering suddenly if he could feel the Speed Force even as he slept, if that was why his nightmares were vivid enough to have him writhing the way he had been when she found him earlier. Did his heart rate accelerate where others' became sluggish while snoozing? Did electricity still flash and set his bloodstream ablaze when he was unconscious? The coma had proved that much, okay, but could he feel it? Did it change his dreams, the pattern his brain weaved?

Whatever the answer, he looked peaceful, lying there. The pain and the bitterness were dormant when he slept without nightmares, like they were hiding. Somewhere in him was the ability to shine the way his counterpart did. The Flash brought nobility and compassion to Earth-1. Barry glowed when he walked into a room; he had been through so much darkness and had come out brighter for it, and he illuminated his friends when he stood beside them. Savitar could do that. It wasn't too late. She thought he probably craved it—he just didn't know that was what it was he wanted. That light was so much a part of the person Savitar had come from, it couldn't just die out, no matter what he'd experienced. He was miserable, trying to smother it. She wanted him to feel whole again, but he was so afraid to try...

Another question sprang to her mind, a little glass shard of hope. “Savitar.”

She didn't think he'd heard her, but then he snapped, “What?”

“Why did you ask me to stay with you?” Caitlin demanded. “Do you really think my sitting here is going to keep your nightmares away?”

He opened his eyes. “No.”

“No,” Caitlin repeated, squinting. She leaned back, studying him.

His eyebrows bounced, he looked expectantly at her. “I was taking a chance.” 

Caitlin controlled her expression, though the shard of hope had become a small, stained-glass window. “I see.” Winding the heels of her hands together. “And...how do you think it'll turn out?” She felt like she was asking for an early grade on a report. Searching for some sign of approval.

Savitar clicked his tongue. “I'm optimistic. But it depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you can shut up long enough for me to fall asleep.”

Caitlin waved a hand apologetically, motioning for him to try again. “Yes. Yes, sorry.” She coughed. “At ease.”

He rolled over, but this time it wasn't so that his back was turned. His arms were still crossed, but his eyes were just barely open now, watching her. “Don't go anywhere, Doctor Snow.” It was almost under his breath; she had to strain to hear it.

She blinked, a little fed up with trying to decode his every sentence. “I said I'd stay until you were asleep.”

Savitar didn't respond, but his mouth tightened. He looked at her, and went on looking at her, until finally the late hour seemed to take him, and he lay fully folded, facing her, out like a light. Caitlin had planned on leaving as soon as he was unconscious, going back to her own room, but she remained in the chair until daylight came. No sense in disobeying orders.


	15. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin and Savitar's relationship is getting warmer the longer they stay on Earth-66...but that warmth is about to be tested.

The walls of the engineering room were far better for interdimensional video calls than the walls of Caitlin's bedroom. For one thing, there was no competing light coming from the window, so it was easier to see. For another, there was no odd, Orange Peel gray texture behind the image.

It wasn't helping, though, that she was surrounded by the ghosts of projects Earth-66's Cisco and Ronnie and the other engineers here hadn't lived to finish. She couldn't have told you what even one of them did if she tried, but it hurt to look at them all the same. She could tell which table was Cisco's—out of everyone else's similar mess, his had a little bobblehead of Captain Kirk in its midst, and there was an empty bag of Swedish Fish beside a clump of wires. Earth-1's Cisco Ramon detested Swedish Fish, so that one was new, but no one else could've been sporting that bobblehead

Ronnie's had her name carved into the tabletop, probably with a hot piece of metal in one of his more distracted moments. It didn't have any hearts by it, or their paired initials nearby, nothing so cliched, but she recognized the handwriting. When she saw it, Caitlin wondered if coming in here had been a bad idea, had been too much. But she was at peace with Ronnie's death now. _Both_ of them. _At least on this Earth,_ she reminded herself in a sort of twisted attempt at solace, _we died together._

Besides, nothing could be too sad when she had Barry in the room with her. In a manner of speaking.  
  
“Hey, Cait,” he greeted as the projector flickered to life, after a moment of the two of them setting it up. He was in Earth-1's med bay, according to the background, and Caitlin's eyebrows came down.

“Are you okay?” she checked, not returning his hello, eyes on the gurney behind him. He wasn't in his Flash suit.

Barry glanced around, realizing what was worrying her. “Oh! Yeah. Yeah, no, I'm fine—it's just quieter in here. Wally almost blew up his Kid Flash uniform earlier and Cisco's doing the 'my suit' thing.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “This is our spot anyway. Thought I'd stick to routine.”  
  
Caitlin rolled her eyes at him, but she was beaming. “You seem cheerful.”  
  
Barry shrugged a shoulder. “I'm happy to see you. Oh—” he held up a small piece of paper. “And Iris just showed me these last night.” He brought it closer to the camera so she could read it. “Can you see it?”

Caitlin squinted. It was a _Save the Date!_ notice for their wedding. She tilted her head as Barry pulled it back. “No red and gold lettering?” she teased.

He raised his eyebrows, still grinning. “Nah, we thought that and making Mirror Master our ring bearer was one hint too many. People might start to think Iris is marrying the Flash or something.”   
  
“Right,” Caitlin chuckled with him. “Well, congratulations, Mister Allen.”   
  
Barry heaved a happy sigh. “I spent so much time worrying we'd never make it this far.” He gestured aimlessly with a hand. “With Iris—not knowing if she was gonna live long enough to even make these...” He set the flyer down somewhere off-camera. “It's like I was wearing a...really heavy backpack, you know, and somebody just ripped it off me. I'm free.”  
  
Caitlin nodded. “We're due for a happily ever after around here,” she told him quietly. Eyebrow quirking, she added, “And it's nice to see a smile on that face for a change. I'm pretty sure the one on _this_ Earth doesn't know how to smile anymore.”

Barry folded his arms, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “You'll fix that.” He lifted his chin. “How's he doing?”  
  
“He's...” Caitlin bit her lip.

Barry leaned forward, jostling the speaker. “Did he do something to you?” his voice had become louder, harder. “Cait?”  
  
Caitlin made a face that told him he was being too hasty. “No—he's...adjusting.”  
  
She told him about Savitar's latest endeavors, keeping Central City safe without really showing himself. She told him how Savitar had caught Heat Wave, and Barry's face crackled and broke just a little when she mentioned that Eddie Thawne was alive and well on Earth-66. She knew Eddie was one of his biggest regrets. Caitlin told him about Savitar's _two_ bullet wounds, and his snark, and how he'd kicked Wally out. She told him what Savitar had said about her Killer Frost powers. It felt so good to spill it all, to hand it to him as if pulling items from her purse, one by one, for him to examine. She hadn't realized how much she needed to vent until her hero was onscreen.   
  
Barry just looked at her with his kind green eyes and his tensed mouth, listening. With his arms still folded, she was reminded immediately of Savitar, and a pang of homesickness for the Flash threw her. For her friend. She didn't know that she still hated Savitar the way she had before all of this—before they saved him from the Paradox—but she was sure they weren't quite friends yet. It was unbalancing, to look at him and so clearly _feel_ the absence of that fondness and trust. He was supposed to be a copy of Barry, but they weren't _friends_? It didn't make sense. Her mind and emotions didn't know what to do with it. The situation was disarming, even as they were learning to work together.

Finally, she came to her plan to save Clarissa Stein. “If we can find Kyle Nimbus on this Earth,” Caitlin wrapped up, “and I can use his genetic information to—to develop some kind of _cure_ for what Stein's wife is facing, we'll not only be saving a life; it could be the key to getting the Professor on our side.” She waited, hoping he was proud of her brilliant plan. It wasn't often she was the one coming up with schemes.

But Barry looked apologetic, hands on his knees. “He's not gonna want a team, Cait. Not yet.”  
  
Caitlin's eyebrows puckered. “He _needs_ one. He can't be this Earth's hero like he has been on his own. You of all people should know that. And...” She tucked her own hands underneath her in her stool, glancing up at the projection. “I can't come home until I know he has friends to keep him in check. That's what I promised him.”  
  
Barry nodded. “I know. But—I mean, you've gotta understand, Savitar comes from...a time where we—us, our _Team_? We let him down. We threw him away.” His voice had become thick, echoing through the engineering room.  
  
Caitlin was shaking her head, looking at the floor stubbornly, before he had finished. “I don't believe that. He's _you_. We would never—”

“No, they would.” Barry was staring at something off-camera, probably the wall. “They would. The Team Flash from 2024, the year he was created? The year we trapped him in the Speed Force? They were... _broken_ , Caitlin. After Iris died...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “My future self kicked everybody out. He shut down S.T.A.R. Labs, he shut down the team.”  
  
Suddenly it was colder in there. “I don't un—”  
  
“I sent _Joe_ away.” Barry said it as if that would explain exactly how much 2024's Flash had snapped. “I wasn't there for him. I wasn't there for any of you. To see _me_ , a duplicate of me, a time remnant, going to them and asking them for help?” The picture flickered, but Caitlin thought his eyes looked a little too wet. “Yeah, they abandoned him. _I_ abandoned _them_. I was selfish, I chose to be alone. So they _left_ me alone. That includes Savitar.”  
  
Caitlin stared at him, heartbeat slowing. She tried imagining it again. Imagining a Barry Allen that would close down their home, their headquarters, a Barry that would send them away and leave Joe all on his own. He had lost his mother, he had lost his father. They way he described it, Barry had lost both parents more than once. If that hadn't brought him so low, seeing Zoom kill Henry right in front of him, having to order the Reverse Flash to murder his mother in order to restore the timeline—if _that_ couldn't make him broken enough to cast them all aside, but losing _Iris_ could...she couldn't wrap her head around it. That wasn't the Barry she knew. Something had been missing the second time, the Infantino Street time, something that should have kept his heart beating even after Iris was taken from him. 2024 Barry didn't _have_ to be alone, but he had allowed it to swallow him, he'd _chosen_ it. Why?  
  
Barry let out a little puff of air, finally adding, “Believe me, he's gonna need some time to trust people again. I mean, from what you told us, it sounds like he's out there trying to be the Flash—”

“He doesn't want to be called Flash,” Caitlin interrupted.

Barry faltered. An adorable twist of confusion raided his expression. “What? What does he call himself?”  
  
“Nothing yet.”  
  
“He's gotta have a name.”  
  
“The newscasters are calling him a _shadow_ ,” she offered, showing her palms.  
  
“The Shadow?” Barry made a face. Then he made a discouraging noise. “I don't like it.”  
  
“Neither do I.”  
  
“Shadows aren't fast.”  
  
“Exactly—”

Barry waved his hands, shaking his head. “ _Anyway_ , sorry—just—” He sighed. “At least he's trying to be a hero again, right? One step at a time. He'll get there. But he needs your help, Cait, he needs you to show him.” He hesitated, then added, a little more earnestly than she would have expected, “Then come home. Okay?”  
  
Caitlin gave him a small smile. “As fast as I can.”  
  
“I can't have you missing my wedding,” Barry added, delivering an ultimatum.

Caitlin almost pouted, offended. “You wouldn't change the date for me?”  
  
“Talk to Iris.”  
  
“Barry!”  
  
“Talk to Iris!” While she was laughing, he added, “I'm serious. If it comes to it, I'll run over there and drag you out myself.”  
  
Caitlin opened her mouth to object to that, but suddenly the image rippled, static claiming Barry's voice as he tried to continue his threats. _Not again,_ Caitlin wanted to groan, but she held it in.  
  
“What's—on—” The sound on Barry's end came in and out, the picture freezing and starting up and freezing again. “Cait?”

“I think that's Savitar calling me,” Caitlin explained, voice raised, as if volume were the problem. She bent down to pick up the walkie talkie projector. “I'm sorry—I'll talk to you later, Barry!”  
  
The sound was completely cut off by the time, but as she narrowed her eyes up at the image, she thought she could make out what he seemed to be saying by reading his lips. She caught the word _promise. Keep your promise_. His green eyes looked so pitiable for a moment, image frozen again, she wanted to call Cisco and demand a breach right then. She missed Earth-1. She missed Barry, she missed all of it.   
  
More static. _But duty calls._

The device collapsed back into walkie talkie form. Using the heat sensor, she transformed it into her comms, attaching the bluetooth to her ear.   
  
“What is it, Savitar?” She hadn't meant to snap, but these interruptions could only be handled with grace and poise for so long.

“You busy?” came a harsher, colder version of the voice she had heard laughing just ten minutes ago. Sounded like he was shouting over something.

“I— ” Caitlin tucked a piece of hair away from her cheek. “Not anymore,” she admitted, forcing her tone into neutrality.

“Got time for a house fire?” he asked again, and she noticed the rush of noise in the background at last. “Or would you rather go back to Skyping your boyfriend?”  
  
Somehow he knew she had been calling Barry? Caitlin's eye roll was award-worthy. She considered telling him about the _Save the Date!_ flyers, just to shut him up, but she knew how cruel that might be.   
  
“Don't be insufferable,” she huffed. “What do you need me to do?” All business now.

“Go to the Cortex. Get a 3D blueprint on the building. I need to know if this thing's coming down.”  
  
Caitlin wondered if he might spontaneously combust upon using the word _please_ , but decided quickly that now was not the time for Cisco-esque jibes. She hurried into the corridor, almost running. As she turned a corner, she heard a loud noise—a kind of shuffle.

Caitlin stopped suddenly.

She made a face, and she must've made a noise too, because she heard Savitar say, “What's the problem?”  
  
“Nothing, it—” Caitlin looked around, but the hallway was as wide and empty as ever. “There's a...a very... _weird_ smell in the corridor.”  
  
Savitar didn't respond. He had probably shut off the comms. He didn't have time to deal with odd smells, apparently. Caitlin took one more turn around the area. The scent was acrid, like the smell of mop detergent or gasoline. Was one of the machines they had patched up on the fritz? This S.T.A.R. Labs was improving with their stay, but it was still very much a beaten-down, neglected shell of what they were used to. Maybe something had gone wrong and now there was some kind of chemical leak.  
  
Whatever it was, aside from the smell itself, there was no corporeal evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Nothing but the floors leading on, the lined walls surrounding it, the low ceiling, the air vents, and herself.  
  
But there _was_ a house burning down somewhere, and Savitar needed a 3D map if he was going to keep civilians safe. She rushed to the Cortex, dismissing the scent for now.  
  
Her monitor seemed to take hours to boot up, but it had been a long time since Caitlin had thrown a _come on you stupid thing_ tantrum over an electronic device. She had been working with them for years; she was very aware that the machines were not sentient and would not respond to shouting and physical scolding. It took even _longer_ to get a diagram of the specific house up, based on Savitar's location.

 Caitlin tapped her comms, leaning toward the screen. “Can you hear me?”  
  
“What do you have?” That was a yes.

"Did you get everyone out?” Caitlin demanded, a sudden fear clenching her.

“What do you _have_?” Maybe that was a yes too.

“The structure from the outside seems to be mainly brick,” she rattled off, clicking and dragging to turn the 3D house. There was no sign of flames in the picture, but then, the analyzing program was only designed to copy a live version of the building, not the elements or living beings surrounding it. “The fire must've come from something inside, a timber frame maybe, or more likely an outlet. It was probably the roof that caught first.”  
  
“Doesn't matter.”  
  
“Right—right, basically it shouldn't fold in on itself just yet, but it could take roughly thirty-two minutes to start decomposing from the inside. No big collapse...but...” She chewed her lower lip a little. This next part might take convincing. “It would probably help the authorities if you put the fire out yourself before any more damage was done.”  
  
“I just wanted to know if I had to get all these idiots out of the area,” came the wooden response. “Somebody's house goes up and everybody wants to take a picture.”  
  
“Millennials,” Caitlin agreed, a flower of teasing in the undertone.

Whether he caught the hint of friendliness or not wasn't clear. “I'm done here.”  
  
The flower shriveled and died. Caitlin flung an arm halfway out in frustration. “You can't at least put some of it out? It's not like you don't have time.”  
  
“I'm hungry.”

“Being a hero again means doing _everything_ you can.” Caitlin mentally pulled out her soapbox. He may have been Barry's remnant, but Barry's instinctual urge to help was being actively smothered. Instead he was favoring the Flash's more stubborn side. And his appetite. “Not running away once the bare minimum is over with.”  
  
There was a moment of silence. Caitlin pulled off her comms and checked that the little green light was on. He hadn't shut off their connection. He'd heard her.

 “Savitar—”  
  
“Is the river north or west of here?” He sounded exasperated, as usual.  
  
Caitlin tried not to smile and failed, so settled for not letting him hear it lest he change his mind. “It's north. Five blocks. But you don't need water, you—”  
  
“Too far away.” Savitar's little dot onscreen darted toward a pocket of heat signatures outside the one mammoth blotch of red that was the burning house.

“What are you doing?” Caitlin demanded, squinting.  
  
“Borrowing their hoses.”  
  
She tried to finish her earlier thought, confused. “You could just create turbulence using your arms. Remember?”  
  
“No thanks.”  
  
“But it's faster.” Caitlin zoomed in on the structure's heat signal. “More efficient.”  
  
“No.”

Four minutes later, he had drenched the building, and the blotch of red on Caitlin's screen had disappeared. She sighed, switching off the comms. He didn't take the best routes, he barely thought things through—he was like the rookie version of Barry, but with zero listening skills.  
  
The Cortex seemed lonelier than ever today. With Wally gone and no Team Flash of Earth-1 to crowd her workspace, Caitlin surmised that this room was actually pretty dull. There was no laughter, no high-fives, no stressed calculating, no sound of clicking keys or the squeak of the marker on the demonstration board. Even the colors were less than stylish to her, suddenly. _I want to go home._

_FWOOOSH!_

Savitar, changed out of his costume and back in the dark clothes he usually wore, appeared in front of the winding white desk. He was carrying a bag of Big Belly Burger products, and there was ketchup on the thumb he popped into his mouth for the moment. No sign he had even been _near_ a house fire today. He may not have had Barry's dedication to detail as the Flash, but he was very good at the civilian turnaround portion of the job.

 Caitlin scowled at him. “Honestly, what is the point of calling me for help if you won't take my advice?”

Savitar's eyebrows jumped once, he leaned down to set his bag of food on her keyboard. “My speed. My way.”  
  
“You _did_ get everyone out of the house, didn't you?” She had to check. After that scare he'd pulled on their first day here, she couldn't help it.  
  
Savitar paused in his stretch to retrieve a few fries, tilting his head at her in a _really?_ fashion. “Yes, Doctor Snow, I got everyone out. Even the cat.” He pulled up his right sleeve, showing her a line of no-longer-bleeding scratches.   
  
Caitlin winced for him. “Good. You know, when someone gives you an option that makes your job easier, you should actually consi—”   
  
With a thud, there was a large cup in front of her.

“What is this?” Caitlin lifted it, surprised by the weight.  
  
Savitar was finishing the burger now, making his way around the desk to the other chair. “Poison.”  
  
To counter his sarcasm, she tested this, taking a sip. Snow closed her eyes at the taste of it for a moment, then wiped her lower lip with a thumb, blinking at him in confusion. “You got me a milkshake?”  
  
Savitar's eyes followed her thumb lazily. He spread his arms. “I had time.”  
  
“It's banana.” Caitlin took another sip, delighted. But there was still bewilderment in her tone. “That's my—”  
  
“Favorite?” When she gave him a look, he flicked the side of his head lightly, indicating his copied memories. His eyelids were lowered; there was a little smirk on his face, but she couldn't see any contempt in this one. It unnerved her.

Caitlin turned the cup in a circle, holding it from the top, manually stirring the shake without opening it. “Thank you,” she mumbled awkwardly, going in for more.

Savitar didn't respond. He was just watching her drink.

“How's your shoulder?” Caitlin asked, setting the milkshake down with great reluctance. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. “Did any more stitches come undone?”  
  
She opened the bag on the keyboard, reaching in for the french fries at the bottom. Upon retrieving one, she felt a slight breeze, a little jolt, and looked down at an empty hand halfway to her open mouth.

Savitar was chewing. “Nope,” he responded, swallowing. He laced his fingers behind his head.  
  
Caitlin decided not to entertain this anomaly—or his smugness—with a reaction and simply went for another fry. Maybe she'd dropped hers; benefit of the doubt. But the same thing happened: one second she was on her way to diabetes, and the next, no fry for her.

“That's very childish,” she muttered, glancing at him. “And an abuse of your abilities.” She wouldn't say anything more; he couldn't have the satisfaction. But she _would_ have one fry. A sense of indignancy was rising up inside of her; just because he had super speed didn't mean he could antagonize with it and win.

The moment her hand touched the open bag, Savitar was up, standing over her, and then her hand was no longer touching the bag.  
  
His scars were no less angry from this angle, and he held the bag full of food as if it weighed the same amount as a third grader's plastic ruler—with two fingers. His hair seemed cleaner up close, actually soft, the way Barry's usually did early in the morning. The nearer she was to him, the more human he seemed, and she struggled to remember a time where they had all been kept awake on Earth-1 by imagining that very face. He was just a man, with flesh the team could recognize.   
  
She didn't think Barry had ever given her that exact expression, though. She didn't dare call it playful, because that didn't work for him, but it wasn't negative either. He leaned down, and she resisted the urge to roll backward in her chair. He wasn't frightening enough to keep her awake anymore, but there was something about seeing Barry with one damaged eye, half a face, and no smile that got to you after a while.

“Hands off my fries,” he told her throatily, heading for the exit.  
  
Caitlin took a moment to compose herself and called, “Where are you going?”  
  
“Sleep.” A flash of sickly yellow, and he was gone, taking the fries with him.  
  
He didn't need fries to nap. Caitlin stood up, sighing. The Cortex was back to being empty. She glanced at the milkshake on the desk, and shut her eyes for a moment.   
  
She'd forgotten to feed Heat Wave today.

* * *

Forgetting to feed a person is not the same thing as forgetting to feed your Golden Retriever. Heat Wave, no matter what abilities he had, was still a human being. And when you forgot to feed human beings, they became what Cisco referred to as 'hangry'. Animals didn't seem to get aggravated over a late lunch, just desperate to finally eat it.

Mick Rory was definitely hangry.

When she opened the hatch that allowed her to drop his lunch into the chute, he glared at her, and she thought he might actually be growling, but she didn't strain to hear it and make sure. His skin was beet red, but with the cuffs still firmly clamped around his wrists, changing colors was about all he could do. He grabbed the bag of Thai takeout rather clumsily; bound hands were not good for coordination, superhuman or not.   
  
Rory didn't begin eating right away. Instead, he opened his hand deliberately and let the food crash to the floor. Yellow bean sauce began slowly leaking its way out of a small plastic cup. Caitlin, ignoring this silent tantrum, used one palm scanner to close the chute, reaching for the one that would bring down the metal barrier with the other.  
  
“You're his pet doctor, huh, little lady?”

Caitlin began punching in the proper code; hesitation had logged her out of the scanner again. “I'm his personal physician. Eat.”  
  
Some of the sauce had stained Rory's hands; he pressed it to the glass, making even more of a mess. “Your friend's in over his head, _physician_.”

She paused. On Team Flash, you learned when to stop and listen to the psychotic villain rant. In her experience it was all bravado and rage, but sometimes—if you asked the right questions—there could be valuable information to file away. And this sounded like the start of one of those rants.

Seeing her halt, Rory pressed his nose to the glass too, encouraged. “He thinks locking me up in here solves all those problems out there.” He pointed, as if gesturing to the outside world. “He's got no idea. Super speed? He got one guy.” Rory brandished his cuffed wrists. “Freakshow's not fast enough to lock us all up.”  
  
Caitlin tilted her head, but before she could ask what he meant, a thin voice from behind beat her to it.  
  
“You're not paid to spill the beans, Rory.”  
  
She whirled around, heart climbing up her throat. Wide eyes, pale skin, high collar. Kyle Nimbus stood with his arms spread in the entry to Mick's pocket of the Pipeline, looking very rankled and impatient. Caitlin's hand flew to her bluetooth comms, but nothing was there. Heart in her mouth now. She'd left it in the Cortex.

“That's enough talking,” The Mist went on, staring Heat Wave down. He started toward them.

Caitlin stood in his way, feet moving without her hardly noticing it. Everything was on autopilot. There was a primal hero's switch her brain had chosen to flick, and she knew what to do without focusing too much energy on it. Everything else was blind fear. She couldn't think of what else to do—she couldn't think of a plan to stabilize Nimbus.  
  
But she could stall him.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded, though she was certain she already knew. That acrid scent before—that had been him, hiding.  
  
Kyle's expression did not change. “Vents.”  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Him.” He nodded to Rory. “Boss's orders.”

“Hurry up!” Rory snarled behind Caitlin. “I been dyin' to scratch my wrists.” Metal scraping glass. “Can't do that when you're locked up in their fancy bracelets!”

Caitlin struggled to find something else to distract him with. Then, _of course_ , the most obvious answer she needed slammed into her. “Why did you attack Clarissa Stein?”  
  
This, the third and by far most random inquiry, seemed to confuse Nimbus, and his stare faltered for a moment. “Who?”  
  
“Clarissa Stein,” Caitlin repeated, voice growing stronger. She imagined the older woman, catatonic in a hospital bed, a sweet, intelligent Professor practically hopeless because of this careless man five feet from her. “Wife of Martin Stein—at a bistro _you_ contaminated.”  
  
“I don't keep a record of people that choke on me,” Kyle's eyes bore into Caitlin. “I was just following orders that night. Restaurant in panic? Check. Who's this?” he added, calling to Heat Wave.

So much for stalling him. Nimbus didn't seem interested in conversation—Caitlin got the feeling any more questions would receive either a one-word answer, or none at all. He was apparently short on time.

“It's the running man's mousy doctor girl,” Rory growled. “Like you said, enough talking. Get a move on!”  
  
“Is she important?” The Mist demanded, getting quieter and quieter.

Caitlin looked past Nimbus, over to the palm scanner, back to Nimbus.  
  
“Nope,” Rory replied, and she heard him grinning.   
  
“That's all I needed to hear.”

Caitlin didn't have time to suck in a last breath of clean air to hold. Kyle Nimbus disappeared in a cloud of green, a paler shade than she was used to on Earth-1, but obviously it was toxic either way. Everything around her became that particular green. Her eyes stung, her hands flailed. She had time to think, _This is not sanitary_ , before uncontrollable coughing consumed her every working part. Her body was trying without fail to heave out the poison gas, whether it made her chest feel like a collapsible lawn chair or not.  
  
Eyes streaming, she clutched the wall. Nimbus was back in human form, and he had her right wrist in one hand, wrenching her over to the palm scanner and placing her hand on the screen. Caitlin heard the whirring of Rory's cell doors being opened.

There was nothing she could do. She couldn't breathe. She sank to the floor, coughing and coughing, gasping for any oxygen that didn't taste like _that_ , like death itself. Her left hand gripped desperately at her necklace, but her vision became cloudy, and her hand dropped. It was all she could do to remain conscious.

She felt Rory and Nimbus step over her.  
  
“Leave her,” Nimbus snapped. “She'll make a good warning for the shadow guy. This is what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong.”

There was a gravelly chuckle from Heat Wave, a flash of boots, and then they were gone.

Minutes dragged by, and Caitlin struggled to move from that one spot. Everything still looked green, and there were spots of light flashing in front of her gaze. She couldn't even hear herself gasping anymore. The alarm couldn't have gone off; the Pipeline wasn't breached according to the system. It was _her_ authorized scan that had released the metahuman.

  
But he found her anyway.  
  
“Caitlin!”

 

When she heard her first name, in _that_ voice, hoarse as it was, for a moment her exhausted brain tried to convince her she was back on Earth-1. It tried to convince her that Barry was the one lifting her off the ground, Barry was the one racing her down corridors faster than sound. But it was the black sleeves of Savitar's jacket when she turned her head, not Barry's warm S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt. He smelled like clean laundry, like the Cortex, but stronger.

 

That was her last real thought before the green seemed to expand, and everything faded out.

 


	16. Exhale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an attack by the Mist, our heroes have a much needed heart-to-heart, and Savitar might be prepared to accept his first real friend.

The last time Caitlin had felt this kind of panic, it was in the middle of the night.  
  
Working with Team Flash made her hardened, tougher, less susceptible to the damage the body's reaction to danger could have on her senses. She'd gotten used to the pressure and the fear and had been able to take that adrenaline and put it to good use, even when _she_ was the one in danger. But there was a time where she wasn't so well-trained, where anxiety could shock her awake and keep her up.

The night after the one during which the particle accelerator had exploded, on Earth-1, she had slept at Cisco's apartment, on the couch. She didn't remember much of the day, or the night before. Everything had been a haze, a nightmare she was stumbling through. No more Ronnie. Dr. Wells' legs ruined. He would never walk again. All those people that had died. No more _Ronnie_. She couldn't think. And she absolutely wasn't going back to her apartment. Too many reminders of what she had lost just 24 hours ago.

So Cisco had dragged her home with him, tried to get her to eat, to talk, anything, but after a while a pillow and a blanket and some quiet was all that seemed to work. She'd fallen asleep on his sofa with her whole body throbbing, feeling like nothing in the world was actually solid anymore.

Then she woke up. Her heart was beating too quickly, her hair was in her face. She felt like she was still in the Pipeline, still desperately clutching the communicator, waiting for Ronnie to respond, but he never did.

She started to cry, so hard it made her face heat up, which made her tears heat up, which just generally made her uncomfortable. The fear of the explosion, the static from the communicator, the look on her fellow employees' faces as she staggered back to the rumbling Cortex without her fiancee. She was reliving it on that lumpy couch, and her tired, grief-electrocuted brain had anxiety pumping through her chest, making her gasp.

Caitlin remembered talking while she cried, probably the babbling of a mind exhausted and traumatized, but looking back what she could be sure of was that she was calling for Ronnie. But he didn't come running, no matter how loudly she yelled for him.

Cisco had, though.   
  
“Hey!” Cisco had stumbled from his room down the tiny hall, eyes very red-rimmed, spitting hair from his mouth. He grabbed his best friend by the arms and shook her as gently as he could. “Caitlin, Caitlin. Stop, calm down, okay? You're safe. You're safe here, chill. It's gonna be okay.”

Caitlin's head had wagged back and forth so hard, it hurt her neck. She was barely focusing on him. “I can't,” she hiccupped, “I can't, I don't—I want—” But she couldn't put it into words. She wanted Ronnie, she wanted everything to be good again.  
  
He had sat beside her, hugging her, rubbing her back, getting her some water. Anything to calm her down. But it would prove to be a long five hours—for both of them. Caitlin's heart wouldn't slow, her eyes wouldn't stop darting around the room, and she couldn't keep from crying. Eventually her throat hurt too much to continue audibly, and Cisco's company was enough to convince her she wasn't in the Pipeline anymore. She sat up all night, wrapped in an unfamiliar comforter that smelled like churros, and silently sobbed for Ronnie. For Dr. Wells, for the lives their experiment had ruined. But as long as Cisco was sitting beside her, every time her mind spiraled, she could pull it back.

“You're safe here.”

* * *

Now, after The Mist's attack, Caitlin was experiencing the same all-encompassing sense of panic. For the first time in a very long time, she was afraid for herself, not for someone else. She had never _not_ been able to breathe before. The working of oxygen throughout the human body was so robotic, so subconscious, that to be kept from doing it was instantly terrifying. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. And this time, she didn't have Cisco to put his hands on her arms and hold them down, telling her firmly that everything was going to be fine.

What she _did_ have was a darkened duplicate of Barry Allen.

She slid in and out of consciousness for the next hour. Caitlin became vaguely aware that she was in the med bay, not the Cortex as she had expected to be, and that there was a piercing sound at regular intervals—she was hooked up to a heart monitor. There was nothing more frightening than that sound, whether it was keeping track of your heartbeat or someone else's. For many people, hearing your own heartbeat makes you nauseous, anxious, even if you are perfectly aware that it is beating and beating in an orderly fashion. Try displaying that beat on a large screen, followed by a sudden _BEEP_ every time the organ pounded. Not comforting in the least, even to a physician.

She hadn't been awake to feel Savitar strapping her down, or employing the monitor, but it couldn't have been anyone else. When she opened her eyes after collapsing in the Pipeline, he wasn't immediately visible. She had to crane her neck, throat raw, eyes watering and blurry, to see him. The coughing was riding every breath.

Savitar had his back to her, and yellow light flashed around the room as he zipped from one machine to the next. She couldn't focus long enough to see what on earth he was doing.

Then he was beside the examination table, pressing an oxygen mask onto her face. Caitlin pulled her head away from it, still in the throes of fear, unsure if he knew what he was doing.

“Stop!” he said, voice so sharp it gave her that same tingling feeling children got when their father berated them in front of a group of friends. “You need this on!”  
  
Caitlin felt like she was going to cough up a lung. “What—that's—that's—” she wheezed. “That's—not going to help—” Her words could only be rushed out between every shaking breath. _How_ was she still alive? She'd dealt with a victim of Nimbus' before. She had to make him understand, this was critical. “Even—Barry—”

Savitar pursed his lips, forcing the oxygen mask on at last. “Caitlin, look at me, see me?” He used one hand to gesture to his face. “ _I know._ I _know_ what you did when this happened to Barry— _stop_ moving—I'm not cutting you open. That's not gonna work.”

Cutting her open? Right, Barry. That was what they'd done for him. Manually extracted the gas. She thought she tasted blood. A sudden thought burst through the pain. _Clarissa Stein._ “We need—a sample—”  
  
Savitar wasn't listening, he _never listened_ , he was back at the machines, turning away from her. The ceiling light reflected off his dark hair; his jacket flapped against his back every time he raced to the next monitor, searching for something to fix this. Caitlin leaned her head back, coughing and coughing and _coughing_ , knowing with grim certainty that this was not something her body could expel in its default fashion. But that didn't stop it from trying with all the energy she had left.

Savitar was moving to the other side of the examination table, but Caitlin didn't need him on the other end of the room. She reached out an arm, frantically grasping the cuff of his sleeve.

Savitar stopped as if she'd injected him with something, slowly, staggeringly. He looked down at her, impatient.  
  
“If you get—a sample—of—” It hurt to talk, it hurt to breathe.  
  
“Shut up!” Savitar jerked his sleeve out of her grasp, moving away again. "You're wasting air."

But she tried to sit up, and hearing her strain against the straps made him turn. “Please,” Caitlin wheezed. She was blacking out again. All the edges of the room were folding in. “It could save—Stein's wife—we _need_ it....” She broke off, gasping deep now. Her chest felt as if iron nails were being wedged out from the inside.

It may have been her failing vision, but Savitar's expression changed, it looked melted. He shook his head ever so slightly and was back at her side in two long strides, ripping off the oxygen mask; it wasn't doing anything anyway. “I'm saving you first.”  
  
Then he reached for her necklace.  
  
Caitlin heaved, body trying to arch but unable due to the straps. Icy terror made her coughing worse. He couldn't. It wasn't as if it wouldn't work—her abilities were, especially if it was her body they were affecting, able to crystalize and repel any threatening force from the inside. But there was also a chance that, given the weakened state Caitlin Snow was already in because of her corrupted system, Killer Frost would be given a free ticket to the control room.  
  
“No!” she choked out. “Don't! I-I can't—I'll be—come—I'll—”  
  
Savitar's mouth tightened, but he didn't respond. Instead he grasped the necklace and pulled, not bothering to undo the clasp, letting it snap.

Everything swam around her. Her vision didn't go sharp, the way it usually did when her metahuman strengths were surging through, but she could feel it anyway. She felt it pulse in her fingertips and swarm toward her chest. The table beneath her grew frigid, and Savitar was only a mix of dark colors rippling over her as she lost consciousness.

* * *

Caitlin was in the Cortex when she opened her eyes next. Only the Emergency Lights were on, and something in her could tell it was nighttime. She was lying on Wally's gurney, and her chest was throbbing, and her throat felt cold. But otherwise, she found as she inhaled, she could breathe again. She wasn't Killer Frost. She was Caitlin Snow. Had it all been a dream? A crazy nightmare? She must still be in it, then, because she wouldn't have spent the night here otherwise. She had a room of her own.

Caitlin glanced down as far as she could in the low-lit room, seeing the pendant of her necklace glow in brilliant contrast to its surroundings. Hadn't Savitar broken it? How long had she been out?  She struggled to sit up, her breathing coming in too fast by choice now; she was gulping as much air as she could. The gurney creaked beneath her. The Cortex was warm.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” came that dry voice. Savitar was leaning on the glass doorframe of the workstation on the dais, watching her.

Caitlin blinked, trying to urge her eyes along in the adjustment to the light. Trying to see him.  
  
He descended the three steps slowly, walking toward her with his arms loose at his sides. “You must be feeling pretty sore.”  
  
“How—” Caitlin winced, hand flying to her throat, massaging the outside though she knew for a fact that this would do nothing to improve the inside. It made her feel better, though.  
  
That sickly blip of a yellow glow, and Savitar was pushing a glass of water into her free hand. 

Caitlin drank desperately, the cold liquid bringing strength back into her limbs. Her head was pounding. This didn't make sense. The room was so comfortable, the lights so dim she could only see vague shapes on the edges of the Cortex to signify objects sitting there. She might be in a coma, on the edge of death, and this was the scene her mind brought to her to calm her down. That would explain the temperature, the lighting. Caitlin often worked with her computer screen's brightness brought as low as it could go; bright lights could be taxing during long nights of research and experiments. And she was always cold. Her mind _would_ , by default, put her in the most physically placid scene it could find in her preferences. This was all in the case of prolonged unconsciousness following the large amount of terror and peril she'd been in, of course, but one thing stood out to her that proved this theory wrong: No Team Flash.   
  
There was no Barry Allen in this little comforting reality her brain may have weaved for her. There was no Cisco. And it wasn't possible for her to be fully convinced that everything was right when those two particular people were not involved. So this wasn't a dream. Which was disappointing, actually, because it left her with a basketful of questions to answer.

She lowered the cup and mumbled hoarsely, “How am I...”  
  
Savitar pointed to his own collarbone, gesturing with a glance to her pendant. “Your powers. Crystalized the gas in your system, shattered it. Killer Frost has a killer immune system, I guess.” He smirked.  
  
Life-threatening experience or not, drained or not, Caitlin was still very much capable of a good old-fashioned rage. She treated the speedster to her most knife-like of looks. After the incident when they'd first arrived here, after everything they had done since then, he still couldn't take a hint. He still didn't understand. Necklace on—Caitlin Snow, bioengineer. Necklace off—Killer Frost, murderer and criminal. It was simple. And he _knew_ which one she preferred.   
  
“How could you do that?” she snapped. “No—I don't care what set of circumstances—I-I don't care _how_ bad it is. I don't ever want you to so much as _breathe_ on this necklace again. You have all of Barry's memories. You know exactly what could happen if you remove my dampener, how could you risk—”

“You're stronger than me.”  
  
That effectively shut her up. Savitar was standing at the end of the gurney now, and when she blinked, staring at him, he averted his eyes. He chose to lock his gaze on the wall behind her. Caitlin's shoulders relaxed, but she squinted at him, confused. When she tried to speak, the itchiness at the back of her dry throat made her cough, just once this time, before she could get the word out.  
  
“What?”  
  
He clicked his tongue. “You're stronger than me. That's how.” The former God of Speed did look at her now, and it was impossible to tell if he was angry or not. His tone definitely told her he was, but his eyes—he just seemed so tired.  
  
“I don't understand,” Caitlin sputtered, shaking her head, still irritated. A compliment didn't wipe away what he'd done, what he could've done. She reached for her water.  
  
Savitar sighed, short and impatient. His hands gripped the metal frame of the bed. He sometimes moved as if it hurt, like everything in him was sore and aching. Where Barry made an effort to wake up and stand tall, his remnant never worked at posture, and his eyes were hardly ever all the way open. Even his voice took on a lazy drawl, as if it were barely worth the time it took to form a sentence aloud when he could just think one to himself. For someone with super speed, Savitar did things rather slowly. As if there wasn't a finish line. His shoulders hunched, he leered at her as he spoke, and every word was annunciated just so—whether this was to patronize her or to reign in some kind of emotion, she couldn't say. Even a face she knew by heart could keep things in.  
  
“You've lost everything before.” Savitar exhaled through his nose, long and controlled. “Ronnie. He died twice. First he exploded in a nuclear blast when the accelerator failed, then he disappeared in the Singularity. And you were _right there_ when it happened. Gone forever.” He snapped his fingers, cocked his head, and she could just make out his eyes glittering in the dark room. “And Jay.” Her heartbeat accelerated at the name; she swallowed. “Zoom? He kidnaps you—starves you, terrorizes you.” Savitar's voice fell into a kind of hush, and it might have been awed if he didn't sound so bitter. “You couldn't sleep for a month. But you got back up.”  
  
He said those last five words so deliberately, letting them thud into the air, that Caitlin closed her eyes briefly, trying to read his demeanor, setting her glass back down. Bitter, yes, but not enraged? Not angry as usual? There was something negative there. He obviously wasn't _pleased_ at this discovery.

“Barry made you Killer Frost,” he went on. Caitlin opened her mouth to object, but he was too quick. “He created Flashpoint, he ruined _everything_ , and you paid the price like everybody else. But you didn't hate him.” He narrowed his eyes then, and finally his cold voice dipped with bewilderment, fascination. “You stayed. You stayed with them, you fought for him.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Caitlin interrupted at last, quiet and somber. There was something in the shape of his mouth, the tightening of his fingers on the bar, that made her careful.

“ _You_ , Caitlin.” Savitar scoffed, showing some thick emotion at last, leaning back in his favorite frustrated gesture. He left one hand on the bed frame, but the other swung limply at his side. He shifted his weight, rankled. Finally he left the end of the gurney and walked toward the center of the Cortex, turning his back to her. “You, you were broken, you were... _hurt_ , you lost people.” He turned on a heel, pointing at her in that same angry way. “You've lost just as much as I have.” The point was redirected to his own chest. He was getting louder now. “You've suffered, you've been alone. So why didn't it take you too?”  
  
“Why didn't _what_ take—”  
  
“The darkness.”   
  
He sounded like Barry. He sounded _just_ like Barry Allen. The same wobble in the undertone, the same climb Barry's voice made as he fought to keep himself in check. The same despair the Flash had to remember and overcome day after day.

Her eyebrows knit together, and she waited for him to explain.  
  
Savitar rubbed his good eye, and she thought he looked old then, like he'd lived through too much. Like he'd spent eternity living through too much. “I lost everything. Like you. I've felt that pain, it _consumed_ me.” He was nearer to the gurney now, pacing toward it, more and more agitated. “And you didn't let it consume you. No matter what happened, no matter what was taken from you, you—”   
  
He bit back the rest, hesitating, thinking.   
  
Finally he finished, deeper than the original, gruffer, “You're stronger than I am, Caitlin. I was Barry, and I was good, and now...” Savitar gave a frightening little smile, one without any hope at all, spreading his arms to gesture to himself. His guttural, dry tone returned. He had arrived at the side of the bed. “Well. You can see for yourself.”

Caitlin knew she was cured of Nimbus' gas, but she still felt short of breath. She was floored by the sight, the sound, of this much of his mind. Savitar's outburst was like the backpack Barry had mentioned earlier that day, during their video chat. It was as if the remnant were holding the heavy backpack out to her, with one hand, and she was being given the choice to take it from him or not. Maybe that wasn't how he saw it. Maybe to him, he was simply opening it up so that she could see its contents and feel his ache. But she always wanted to take someone else's load. She always saw it as removable, shareable. Because he was right, she'd had one of her own, and she knew the best way to ease it. A burden is only a burden if you decide to focus on the weight.  
  
Caitlin reached over the cup of water and grasped his sleeve.

He stilled, the way he had earlier, but this time he didn't have anywhere to be, any machine to rush to, and perhaps that was why he didn't wrench away. He glanced down at her again, though, but now he looked raw. He looked uncomfortable, eyes flicking to her face and down again, as if regretting saying so much.

Caitlin swung her legs off of the gurney so that she was seated, leaning very slightly on the mound of pillows, on the side of the bed. Her feet dangled, those and her legs tingling madly, and she was glad the room was heated. Autumn air on her toes would not be beneficial to her health after an encounter with The Mist. And she really didn't like cold feet.

Sure now that he wouldn't yank out of her grip, Caitlin gingerly pulled on that black denim cuff, and he followed as if it were a remote for his body's balance, robotically sitting beside her as she directed him.

His head was turned toward her, but his eyes refused to land. “I knew you wouldn't become Frost,” he muttered. “You can't. She's not strong enough for you.” He said it so neutrally, _well, that's just life_ , but he still somehow sounded like he was pushing back a flood.  
  
Caitlin let go of his sleeve and pressed her weight onto her palms, both of which rested on the gurney. She bit her lip. “I didn't feel strong,” she admitted. “Without Ronnie. After Zoom. I felt...empty. And angry. I felt weak, like I—I was someone else.” She held the snowflake pendant out in one hand, twisting it, looking down at it but seeing icy white eyes in its shape, seeing pale hair and a wicked smirk. “I'm only strong because I had people there to help me up,” she explained at last.

Savitar's exhale was silent, but she saw the air go out of him. He glanced at the entrance to the room, pointedly refusing her gaze, though she hurried on, leaning closer and speaking louder so that he wouldn't have the chance to ignore her.

“I had Barry. And I had Dr. Wells, and Cisco. And even after I was Killer Frost, even when I felt like they didn't care, that they— _couldn't_ help me, Barry reminded me—he said—he said that underneath all the cold and the heartache and the hurt, I was still me. _I_ chose to do the right thing; I chose to change. They just helped me see that...I _had_ that choice.” Caitlin paused, watching him. Letting it sink in.   
  
Savitar didn't turn to look at her. But he said, “Having people who cared no matter what you were. No matter what you did.” She saw his shoulders jump a little as he snorted. “That must've been nice.”  
  
Caitlin put a hand on his shoulder, and she felt every muscle in his body freeze and then melt. He was like a cat, leaning into the touch just a tiny bit, just enough to be noticeable. She hadn't thought about how little he had had someone physically reassure him. For someone with Barry's memories—a memory stuffed with hugs and fist bumps and back rubs and hands on shoulders—it must have been like that glass of water on the side table to him.  
  
“You can have that again, Savitar,” she said.  
  
A barely-audible chortle. “You say that like I've had it before.”  
  
Caitlin managed a little smile at that. At the semantics. “Okay, well—I guess this will be a first, then.”  
  
Finally, he glanced at her. His scars were barely noticeable in this light, and his eyes were almost shut; she couldn't tell one from the other. She wondered fleetingly, as only a doctor could, if it was too warm for him in the Cortex, wearing that jacket with the heat on like this. His expression was open, wanting. He swallowed, nodding, not responding audibly to her very clear claim—as his _friend_. He seemed to be waiting for her to retract it, which obviously she had no intention of doing.

“Thank you for helping me,” Caitlin told him, pulling her hand away. “Even if it meant taking this off.” She turned the pendant in her other hand.

Savitar watched the one that had held his shoulder drop back onto the gurney with slightly starved eyes. “No problem,” he mumbled softly, as if hardly hearing her. His own hands were grasping each other, limp and hanging off the edge of the gurney, fingers tightening and unwinding. He looked glazed, like a drowning victim, dazed by what she'd just initiated.

“I know you didn't have to,” Caitlin added, babbling now. “And—” She held up a hand before he could say it. “I know you don't _need_ me—but—thank you anyway. You saved my life.”

He didn't say anything.

Caitlin got up, leaning against the gurney. Savitar stood too, suddenly jelly where he had been stiff before, loose-limbed and watching her the way a puppy watches its new owner leave it in its bed for the night.  
  
“Where're you going?” he asked throatily.  
  
Caitlin gasped, stumbling. _Oh, of course_. Lack of oxygen, lack of movement. Her entire lower half was numb—asleep. Didn't she feel foolish for not expecting it.

Savitar moved as if on instinct, strong arms and hands catching hers, pushing her upright again. Barry had held her in the same places after Hartley Rathaway's attack on Earth-1, years ago. Maybe he was thinking of the same thing, because when she looked at him, scientific mind following the precise similarities in movement, he let go of her, and she repositioned her hold on the gurney's frame.   
  
“Nowhere in a hurry, apparently,” she muttered. “Oh—ah—my head—” She massaged her temple, hoisting herself back up onto the bed.

Savitar's hands were back in his pockets. “I said you'd be sore,” he reminded her, voice just a mite less dull than usual.

“Yes, you did,” Caitlin cleared her throat, frustrated. “Thank you for that. What about the sample?” she added suddenly, head snapping around to look at him.

Savitar's eyes narrowed. “Your powers crystalized the gas, Caitlin.”  
  
“You didn't get it?”  
  
“I was preoccupied,” Savitar replied nonchalantly. “You weren't _breathing._ Was a little distracting.”  
  
“But—” She tried to curb her irritation. “The gas—it could have components that could be used to develop a cure to Clarissa Stein's damaged lungs. She needs that sample!”  
  
“I'll get Nimbus,” Savitar told her suddenly, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. His voice was getting stronger by the minute. “Okay? And Rory. I'll have them back here in two days, tops. Believe me.”  
  
“Every minute we wait, she could take her last breath,” Caitlin sighed, rubbing her eyes. “It was the perfect opportunity—”  
  
“I don't care. _You_ were the one dying. She held on this long, she can do it a little longer.” Savitar took the edge of the gurney's covers and impatiently draped them over her legs. The way he did it made her think his body was on autopilot, not really thinking about it. “I'll deal with it.”  
  
“You can't go after him now,” Caitlin protested, sitting up again. “I won't be able to help you like this. No more big missions until I'm back on my feet, not right now. All right? If you try going in b—”  
  
“Caitlin.” Savitar pressed the glass of water into her hands again, refilled in seconds with his speed.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know Barry never mentioned this,” he said slowly, and she blinked, sitting up even straighter. “But you talk too much.”  


He watched her take another long drink, and when she had finished she lay back down, getting comfortable. After a moment, she closed her eyes, and the warmth of the room and the weight of the blankets almost had her asleep, breathing in and out, in and out, drinking in the clean air with more appreciation and awareness than she ever remembered having before.  
  
She heard a shuffling noise, and she sat up, propping herself up on an elbow. “What are you doing?” she called.  
  
Savitar was halfway to the exit. He stopped when she spoke, turning to cock his head at her. “Letting you rest.”  
  
Caitlin felt her heart soften, a bit like Playdough fresh out of its bin, squished and molded for the first time. His voice was still hoarse, but there was no bite to it now. She wondered if it would stay that way. Its volume made her sleepier.  
  
But the dim lights were flickering, and she suddenly remembered, the way you do at night sometimes, that careless look in those permanently-wide eyes of Nimbus'. She could hear Rory calling her unimportant, she could still smell the gas. The dark made the negatives in her imagination pop out when it was time to go to bed. It would always do that, no matter how old you got, if you had been through certain things.

“Can you—” She was almost embarrassed to ask, then decided she didn't care that much. “Can you turn the lights up? Please?”  
  
Savitar didn't move for a moment. His half-open gaze traveled from her to the lowered lamps on the walls, and he said, “Scared of the dark, Caitlin?”  
  
Before she could answer, he had strolled over to her, pulling a nearby wheeled chair with him. He set it down beside her bed, sitting with his arms crossed over his chest the way they had been the night he'd come out of those nightmares.

 

Caitlin looked him up and down, calculating.

  
“How bout we do this instead?” he grunted, leaning back.  
  
Caitlin's eyebrows puckered. Her voice rose above the hushed tones they had been speaking in, skeptical. “You can't just turn on the light?”  
  
He glanced at the switch near the entrance to the room. Then he glanced back at her, back at the switch, back at her, pointing. “It's so far away.”  
  
Caitlin could take a hint. She settled back down. “Call me pathetic,” she sighed, “but I think I can add Kyle Nimbus and his toxic smell to my dolly dreams now.”

 

Savitar didn't call her pathetic. She opened an eye to see him watching her, expressionless. But what he said was, “You're safe here.”

 

And she could fall asleep. The panic was gone.


End file.
